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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



School 



Dialogues and Entertainments 



For Grammar Grades 



By 
HARRIET H. jPIERSON 

and others 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
1910 



School Dialogues and Entertainments 



Contents 




The Dollies' Fortune. For three little girls . 
A Gift to Santa Claus. For three little girls 
The Monomaniacs. For three girls . . . 

A Wily Salesman. For one boy and two girls . 
Escaped From the Zoo. For three boys and one girl 
The Little Stars. For one larger and two smaller girls 
The S. I. M.'s, For three boys and three girls 
Mrs. Webster's Address. For one boy and two girls 
Aunt Patience's Umbrella. For one boy and three girls 
The Dog, the Cat, and the Rat. For three little boys 
The Aqua Marina Panacea. For nine large girls . 
The Three Jacks. For three boys .... 
Answer — A Charade. For one boy and one girl 
The World's Work. For eight boys 
Half an Hour With a Giant. Any number of boys 
A Carnival of Days. 

May Day. For seventeen little girls 

Memorial Day. For six boys and twelve girls . 

The Fourth of July. For fifteen boys and chorus 

Christmas. For eleven boys and eight girls 

St. Valentine's Day. For nine girls 
A Dream of the Centuries. For twelve boys and six girls 1 1 
Mademoiselle's Christmas Gifts. One boy and eight girls 129 
America's Birthday Party. For nine girls . . .138 

Tell-Tale — Charade. For nine boys and nine girls . 142 

Buoyant — Charade. For five boys and two girls . .146 

Dotage — Charade. For five boys and six girls . .150 




Copyright, 1910, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 



£Cj.A253 



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°3 



So 



Part I 
School Dialogues 



The Dollies' Fortune 



Characters : 



Three little girls ; two dressed for the street ; one, a little 
older, dressed to represent a fortune-teller. 

SCENE. — Any room. Discovered — Fortune-teller seated 
in large armchair with table beside her, on which is a 
candle. 

Enter two girls with dolls. 

F. T. Good-afternoon, ladies. 

Both Girls. Good -afternoon. 

ist Girl. Is this the fortune-teller? 

F. T. It is. Will you be seated? (Girls take seats.) 

ist G. We brought our dollies to have their fortunes told. 

F. T. Ah, yes, it will give me great pleasure. 

2D Girl. Do you tell only good things that are going to 
happen ? 

F. T. Oh, I must tell just what I see, whether it is good or 
bad. But if you are not pleased with what I tell you, you need 
not pay me for it. 

2D G. Oh, is that it? That's very fair, I'm sure. And if 
we are suited, how much do you charge? 

F. T. Then you must cross my palm with silver. Do you 
agree ? 

2D G. Oh, certainly. 

F. T. And which comes first ? 

2D G. (Jo ist G.). You go first. 

ist G. Very well. 

(Takes seat beside F. T., who lights her candle and looks 
solemnly at doll's hand.) 

F. T. (speaking very slowly, with long pauses). I see that 
this child is to be very fortunate. She will have many friends, 
plenty of fine clothes, beautiful dresses with hats, parasols and 
fans to match. I see that she will be an obedient and dutiful 
child, but she is inclined to be rather delicate, and you should 

5 



O SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

be careful of her health. Never allow her to get her feet wet, 
or leave her out-of-doors at night. I see an accident of some 
kind ; let me see — yes, I think she is to lose one of her 
arms 

ist G. Oh ! 

F. T. But you can easily get a new one, and she will soon 
be as well as ever. And here is some good fortune coming to 
her — I can't tell just what it is, but you will know in about six 
months. I believe that is all. {Bows dismissal.*) 

ist G. {rising). Thank you. 

F. T. {looking toward 2D G.). The next ! (2D G. takes 
place. F. T. examines dolV s hand as before.) I see that this 
child, too, is to be a favorite of fortune. She will make friends 
wherever she goes. She will have plenty of pretty clothes and 
jewelry, a fine carriage, and possibly an automobile. She is 
to go on a journey soon — I think to Newport. You will have 
to watch her closely. Don't leave her out in the sun, or it will 
ruin her complexion ; and don't take her in bathing on any 
account. I regret to say that she is to meet with some misfor- 
tune — yes, here it is ; she is going to lose her beautiful hair 

2D G. Oh, how terrible ! 

F. T. But it can easily be replaced, and if you like you 
will be able to have a different color. I see that she will have 
a long life, and, for the most part, a happy one. {Puts candle 
on table and bows dismissal.) Now are you both satisfied ? 

2D G. {rising). With everything except the trouble that is 
to come to her. Naturally, I am not pleased with that. 

ist G. {rising). Nor I either. 

F. T. Ah, but it will be only for a little time ; they will 
soon be well again; and don't you know that you will love 
them all the better for the troubles they pass through ? 

Girls. Do you really think so? 

F. T. Oh, yes; I am sure of it. Every misfortune that 
comes to your children will only make them dearer to you. 

ist G. Well, in that case 

2D G. Yes, in that case, we ought to be satisfied. 

{Both open purses and take out dimes with which they cross 
the F. T.'s palm.) 

F. T. Thank you. 
Girls. Good -afternoon. 
F. T. Good-afternoon. 

CURTAIN 



A Gift to Santa Claus 



Characters : 



Edna. 

Marian. 

Alice. 

Time, — Christmas Eve. 

SCENE I. — Any room with shelf or place where stockings may 
be hung. Discovered — Three little girls, each hanging up a 
stocking. 

Edna. There ! I'm sure Santa Claus can't miss that. I 
got just the biggest stocking I could find. 

Alice. I should thinbso ! I asked mother for one of hers, 
but she thought that wouldn't be fair. And I don't suppose it 
really would. 

Marian. No, I don't think so either. When Santa Claus 
is so good to bring us presents, we ought to be satisfied with 
our own stocking full. 

Ed. I never thought about that. I didn't mean to be pig- 
gish. It is good of him to come so far and bring us so many 
things. 

Al. Isn't it? And, do you know, I've been wondering if 
Santa Claus ever gets any presents himself. 

Mar. Santa Claus? Oh, Alice! The idea! What 
should he care about presents ? 

Al. Well, why shouldn't he? Everybody likes to get pres- 
ents, don't they ? 

Ed. Yes, real people, of course; but Santa Claus — that 
seems different. 

Al. Why different? Isn't Santa Claus real people? 

Ed. Why — yes, I suppose so ; but we never saw him, you 
know. 

Mar. Maybe Mrs. Santas Claus gives him presents, and his 
children, if he has any. 

7 



8 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Al. Maybe; but I think it would be nice if we could give 
him something ourselves. 

Ed. We girls ? 

Al. Yes. Don't you think so? 

Mar. Why, yes. That would be lovely ! 

Ed. But what can we give him ? I don't suppose he needs 
a thing. 

Al. No, but just to show we remember him, you know. 

Mar. Do you suppose he wears neckties? That's what 
mamma always gives papa. 

Ed. Oh, I don't think so. He wears fur gloves, but we 
haven't the money to get anything like that, and besides, there 
isn't time. 

Al. I think he'd be just as well pleased with some little 
thing. Why not give him a nice big apple? I don't believe 
they grow where he lives; it's too cold. 

Mar. All right ! 

Ed. That would be fine. But how shall we do it? 

Al. Why, we'll leave it here where he can't help but see it. 
Marian, you go get the apple, and Edna and I will write a note to 
put with it. Here's some paper that mother left this morning. 

[Exit Mar. 

(Al. seats herself at table to write. Ed. looks over her 
shoulder. ) 

Ed. What will you say? 

Al. (writing). We'll just tell him who it's from. There ! 
How's that? 

Ed. {reading). Good ! (Enter Mar., with big red apple.} 
Oh, what a lovely apple ! Listen, Marian, while Alice reads 
you what she's written. 

Al. (reading). " Dear Santa Claus : This apple is for you, 
from Edna and Alice and Marian." 

Mar. That's good. Now where shall we put it? 

Ed. I'll tell you. We'll set a chair right under the stock- 
ings and put the apple in it. 

(Arranges chair. Mar. places apple in it.) 

Al. And we'll pin the note to the back of the chair so he 
can't help but see it. Wait till I write his name on it. 
(Writes.) S-a-n-t-a C-1-a-u-s. There! 

(Pins note to chair.) 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 9 

Ed. Isn't that great? 

Al. Won't he be pleased ! 

Mar. I'd just like to see his face when he finds it ! 

{All stand with clasped hands y smiling and looking at the 
applet) 

CURTAIN 



SCENE 1 1 . — Same room Christmas mor?iing . Stockings filled ; 
apple gone ; note pinned on chair . Discovered — Mar. stand- 
ing before the stockings. 

Mar. {running toward door and calling). Girls, oh, girls, 
hurry up ! The stockings are all full and the apple is gone ! 

(Ed. and Al. rush in.) 

Al. Oh, good ! He found it ! 

Ed. He found it ! 

Al. But the note is here. Oh, no ; do let me see. {Ex- 
amines note.) Why, it's another — from him — from Santa 
Claus ! 

Ed. 

Mar. 

Al. Yes; listen. {Reads while others also look at note.) 
" Dear Edna and Alice and Marian : Thank you for the nice 
red apple. It was the only Christmas present I had. I'll be 
sure to come again next year. Your friend, Santa Claus." 

Ed. Oh, my ! 

Mar. Isn't that lovely ! 

Al. I'm so glad we thought of it. 

Ed. So am I. 

Mar. He was pleased, wasn't he? 

Al. Of course he was. We'll do it every year. But do 
see how full my stocking is ! 

Ed. So is mine ! 

Mar. And mine, too ! 



I From Santa Claus ! 



{Each takes down her stocking and holds it in her arms. 
They dance to front of stage and sing to the tune of 
"Jingle Bells: 1 ) 



10 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Hurrah for Santa Claus, 

That kind and good old man ; 
We hope he'll come again 

As often as he can. 
He stuffs our stockings full 

With gifts all bright and new, 
Then off he goes as quick as scat, 

He has so much to do. 

{Chorus!) 

Santa Claus, Santa Claus, 
What lovely things you do ! 

Always you remember us, 

And we'll remember you. {Repeat.) 



CURTAIN 



The Monomaniacs 



Characters : 

Mrs. Davis. 
Mrs. Perkins, 
Mrs. Williams. 



SCENE. — Mrs. Davis's sitting-room. Discovered — Mrs. 
Davis and Mrs. Perkins, the latter in street dress. 

Mrs. P. (rising). I really must be going, Mrs. Davis. 
But there ! I nearly forgot my errand. I wanted to ask if 
you have a skirt pattern that I can use for Elinor, one of the 
new styles. The one I have is so old, and she's getting quite 
particular now ; she wants everything right up to date. 

Mrs. D. I think I have one. Sit down and I'll see. 

(Looks in box or basket.) 

Mrs. P. Elinor's growing so fast, I can hardly keep her in 
clothes. All the dresses she had last year are up to her knees 
this year. I never saw the like. 

Mrs. D. There, how will that do? (Hands pattern to 
Mrs. P.) I think it's a neat, pretty skirt. 

Mrs. P. Oh, yes, that will do nicely. Thank you so 
much. I'll cut one off and send Elinor over with this one to- 
morrow. She'll be glad of an excuse to come. 

Mrs. D. Oh, there's no hurry about it. 

Mrs. P. It's very good of you, I'm sure. (Looks out of 
window.) Is that Mrs. Williams across the street? Yes, I 
believe she's coming here. Now you'll hear about nothing but 
Marjorie every minute that she stays. Did you ever notice 
how she talks continually about that child ? She doesn't give 
you a chance to say a word about anything else. It's the 
funniest thing ! 

Mrs. D. Marjorie is a very interesting child. 

II 



12 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Mrs. P. Why, yes, to be sure; but she isn't the only one 
in the world. \Exit Mrs. D. 

Mrs. Williams {talking outside). I ought not to stop a 
minute. I promised Marjorie I'd meet her after school to do 
some shopping, and it's time I was on my way. {Enter Mrs. 
W. and Mrs. D.) Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Perkins. 
(Shakes hands with Mrs. P.) It's a long time since I've seen 
you. I told Marjorie yesterday I must call on you, and she 
said if I'd wait tiil Saturday she'd go too. The poor child is 
so busy with her studies she hardly gets a minute's time for 
recreation. They do cram children so nowadays; it's some- 
thing dreadful, /think. 

Mrs. P. I know it ! Why, Elinor has to study some 
nights till eleven o'clock. I'm actually afraid she'll overwork, 
she's so ambitious. 

Mrs. W. Yes, that's the way with Marjorie. But she's so 
anxious to pass her examinations, and she's always had such 
a high standing, so far, that I hate to have her fall behind. 

Mrs. P. That's just it. Elinor never gets less than ninety, 
and oftener it's ninety-seven and ninety-eight, and in Algebra 
two or three times she's had a hundred. She's fine in mathe- 
matics ; she always was. I remember 

Mrs. W. Oh, Marjorie has always got high credit marks, 
too. She does well in all her studies, but her specialty is Eng- 
lish. She just loves it. She reads book after book, dry things, 
too, they seem to me, but she absorbs them like a sponge, with- 
out the least effort. It really surprises me. 

Mrs. P. Yes, Elinor's fond of reading, too. I wish I could 
remember how many books she's read since school began, — 
more than I read in a year. 

Mrs. W. What troubles me most is that Marjorie doesn't 
get time for her music. She was doing so beautifully with it 
last year ; her teacher said she never saw a child get on so 
fast ; but now she hasn't touched the piano in a month. 

Mrs. P. Oh, I insist that Elinor must practice half an hour 
every day, at least. I don't want her to lose what she's 
learned. She's got so she can play quite difficult music, and 
she reads it almost at sight. It's really wonderful. But now 
her eyes are troubling her, and she complains so much of 
headache I'm quite worried about it. I'm going to take her to 
the oculist next week and see if she needs glasses. 

Mrs. W. I dare say she does. When I got Marjorie's 
glasses she'd been having dreadful headaches for a long time, 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 1 3 

and the oculist said it was all her eyes ; she ought to have had 
glasses years ago. And he was right, for she's hardly had a 
headache since. 

Mrs. P. Well, I hope that's all that's the matter with 
Elinor. Her eyes have never been strong since she had the 
measles. She was so very sick then, you know, and we didn't 
know what it was at first, for hers was the only case around. 
We never could think where she got it. But I'm glad it's over 
with. I believe now she's had about all the children's diseases 
on the list. 

Mrs. W. So has Marjorie, all except whooping-cough. I 
hear there are one or two cases around. I'm so afraid she'll 
get it. I do hope it won't spread. 

Mrs. P. Oh, I hope not. I'm going to keep Elinor away 
from it if possible. But dear me ! I must go. {Rises and 
looks at watch.} I didn't dream it was so late. Thank, you 
so much for the pattern, Mrs. Davis. I'm sure Elinor will be 
delighted with it. Good-afternoon. 

Mrs. D. Oh, you're entirely welcome. Good- afternoon. 

\_Exit Mrs. P. 

Mrs. W. Isn't it too funny for anything the way Mrs. 
Perkins goes on about Elinor ? She's just completely wrapped 
up in that child. (Mrs. P. reenters quietly and stands in 
sight of audience, but behind Mrs. D. and Mrs. W.) She 
can't talk of anything or anybody else but Elinor the whole 
time. 

Mrs. P. Excuse me, Mrs. Davis ; did - you see anything 
of my gloves? I think I must have left them. 

{Both ladies rise.} 

Mrs. W. {excitedly). Mercy on me ! Is that you, Mrs. 
Perkins? What was I saying? 

Mrs. P. Just the same thing that I was saying about you 
before you came in. You say I can't talk about anything but 
Elinor, and I said you couldn't talk about anything but 
Marjorie. 

Mrs. W. I ? The idea ! How can you say anything like 
that ! 

Mrs. P. Because it's true. I said it, and I'll stick to it. 
You never thought about it, perhaps, but if you would you'd 
see it for yourself. It's nothing but Marjorie, Marjorie, all the 
time. 

Mrs. W. Well, I'm verv sure I don't talk about Marjorie 



14 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

half as much as you do about Elinor. I don't suppose you 
realize it, but you never give me a chance, for it's all Elinor 
from beginning to end. 

Mrs. P. How queer ! That's just the way I feel about you. 

Mrs. W. Well, I think we shall have to leave it to Mrs. 
Davis to decide which one of us is right. What do you say, 
Mrs. Davis? 

Mrs. D. Oh, don't appoint me your judge, I beg of you ! 

Mrs. P. But please tell us honestly what you think. 

Mrs. D. (smiling). Perhaps it might be a good idea for 
both of you to watch yourselves carefully and see what you 
think. 

Mrs. W. You remind me of Marjorie. That's one of her 
favorite expressions : " Watch yourself, not somebody else." 
She always likes to fix the responsibility where it belongs. 
What are you laughing at? Oh, dear! I didn't think. I 
don't know but Mrs. Perkins is right. 

Mrs. P. You'll have to try Elinor's plan. When she 
wants to break off some habit she charges the whole family to 
remind her if she forgets. She's broken herself of — oh, there ! 
Now you're laughing at me / I don't wonder. Mrs. Williams, 
I'm afraid you're right, too. I shall surely have to try 
Elinor's plan. 

Mrs. W. And I must try Marjorie's. 



CURTAIN 



A Wily Salesman 



Characters : 

Mrs. Edmonds. 
Mrs. Worth. 
A Salesman. 

SCENE. — Any room. Discovered — Mrs. Edmonds seated, 
sewing. 

Mrs. E. {looking out of window). I wonder who's coming 
now. Some agent or pedler, I should say. If they aren't the 
greatest nuisance ! 

{Knock is heard. Mrs. E. goes to door.) 

Salesman (entering). Good-afternoon, madam. 

Mrs. E. (retreating). Good -afternoon. I don't wish for 
anything to-day. 

Salesman. Ah, madam, if you knew what I have here you 
would not say that. 

Mrs. E. Yes, I should, for I'm really not in need of any- 
thing. 

Salesman. Yes, madam ; but if you will look only for a 
moment at the beautiful goods I will show you I'm sure you 
will change your mind. (Opens grip.) 

Mrs. E. I can tell you you're only wasting your time as 
well as mine. 

Salesman (holding up a piece of dress-goods). These, 
madam, are all imported goods in dress lengths, eight yards, in 
the very newest materials and shades. Now, isn't that a beau- 
tiful piece? 

Mrs. E. Yes; but I don't care for any dress-goods at all. 

Salesman. And here is another, handsomer still. See how 
soft and fine it is. And only four dollars a yard. 

Mrs. E. Four dollars ! 

15 



1 6 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Salesman. Yes, madam, it's one of the greatest bargains 
ever known. Don't you think so? 

Mrs. E. No; I think it's an outrageous price. 

Salesman. But, madam, let me tell you. I've been sell- 
ing these same identical goods all along for five dollars a yard ; 
but I know if I can sell a piece to you it will be one of the best 
advertisements I could have, so I made up my mind to sell at 
a sacrifice and let you have it for four dollars. What do you 
say? 

Mrs. E. No, I couldn't think of paying any such price as 
that. 

Salesman. Well, now, madam, there's one piece I want to 
show you that's the handsomest of all, and one of the new 
shades that all Paris is wild over. I might have sold it a hun- 
dred times, but, you see, it's a very trying color, and only a 
very few women, young and with perfect complexions, can 
wear it. There was a lady just around the corner who caught 
sight of it and was just crazy to buy it, but I knew she'd look 
like a fright in it, and I never like to sell anything that I think 
people will be dissatisfied with afterward. So I said to her, 
" Madam, I'm afraid you would find it a rather trying shade; 
wouldn't you like this dark red better? " Well, say ! she flew 
at me like a mad hen, and of course 1 lost my sale. But, as I 
say, I'd rather lose money than have my customers dissatisfied. 

Mrs. E. Who was the lady? Mrs. Worth? 

Salesman. Yes, I believe that was the name, — Mrs. Worth. 
She ought to thank me for saving her from making herself look 
ugly, but of course she won't. But, now, madam, won't you 
let me sell you this dress pattern ? I — really — pardon me, but 
I'm sure you would look charming in it. 

Mrs. E. Oh, thank you ! I — I really don't know. It is 
lovely. It would make an elegant evening gown. I've half a 
mind to get it to wear to Mrs. Worth's reception next month. 
I suppose it's the same price as the others? 

Salesman. Ahem ! Well, no, madam, I can't sell this for 
less than five dollars a yard. 

Mrs. E. Five dollars ! Why does it cost so much ? 

Salesman. The very fact that it is such a delicate and 
beautiful shade makes it more expensive. You see the manu- 
facturers find it very difficult to make the color always the 
same, and there has been such a call for it that it is hard to 
supply the demand. 

Mrs. E. That seems a good deal to pay, but after all, it's 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 1 7 

only a dollar more on a yard, and I do want it dreadfully. 
Yes, I think I'll take it. 

Salesman. Very well, madam; I think you're wise, for 
you'll never find a more becoming color, or a dress that will 
give you better satisfaction. 

Mrs. E. {taking purse from drazuer). That would be — 
eight yards — forty dollars. 

Salesman. Yes, madam; thank you. Good-afternoon. 

[Exit. 

Mrs. E. {looking at goods). It is a beautiful piece, but I 
ought not to have bought it; it was a dreadful price, and I'm 
sure I don't know what Horace will say. He'll think I'm ter- 
ribly extravagant. But it is just too perfectly lovely for any- 
thing ! I wonder if it will be becoming to me? {Goes to 
glass , unfolds goods and holds up around her face.') Of course 
I can see that Cassandra Worth would look like a fright in it. 
How could she ever think of wearing such a thing ! But, 
really, it is becoming to me. {Bell rings.) Good gracious ! 
{Tumbles goods out of sight and goes to door.) Oh, Mrs. 
Worth ! How do you do ! {Enter Mrs. Worth, with 
bundle.) Come in, do. I'm so glad to see you. Do have a 
chair. 

Mrs. W. No, thanks; I can't stay a minute. I just ran 
in to show you some dress-goods I bought of a man that came 
around this afternoon. {Unties string of bundle.) Did he 
stop here ? 

Mrs. E. Oh, yes, and I bought some, too. Do let me 
show you ! {Brings out goods.) Isn't it a lovely color? He 
said it was a very trying shade, and there were very few people 
to whom he could recommend it, but he was sure it would be 
immensely becoming to me. Don't you think it's beautiful? 

Mrs. W. Yes, it is. 

Mrs. E. Didn't he show it to you? 

Mrs. W. Yes, he showed it to me. {Removes paper from 
bimdle and holds up goods.) And I bought it — or one just like 
it. He told me the very same thing. 

Mrs. E. He did ! Oh, the wretch ! 

{Both stand holding goods and looking daggers at each other,) 

CURTAIN 



Escaped From the Zoo 



Characters : 

Three boys and one girl. 

SCENE. — Any room. Discovered — Girl seated, reading. 

Enter Three Boys ; one with bushy hair standing out from his 
head, representing a lion ; one stretching up a long neck, 
representing a giraffe ; one with both hands held in front, 
hanging loose from wrists, representing a kangaroo. Girl 
starts up in alarm, as they move about the room, the lion 
roaring and shaking his mane, the giraffe reaching up to 
nibble something above his head, the kangaroo galloping 
about. 



Girl. 
Lion. 



Pray tell me, what do these antics mean ? 
And who in the world are you ? 

Why, we are animals, don't you see? 
We've just escaped from the Zoo. 

{Runs fingers through hair.*) 

I am the lion. 

Giraffe {stretching neck). 

And I'm the giraffe. 

Kangaroo {galloping). 

And I am the kangaroo. 

{The same motions are repeated with the closing lines of 
each verse.) 

Girl. You look quite ugly and fierce enough 
To frighten me through and through, 
18 






school dialogues and entertainments 19 

Giraffe. 

Why, that's quite natural, don't you see? 
For we belong to the Zoo. 
Lion. 

The strong, young lion. 
Giraffe. 

The tall giraffe. 

Kangaroo. 

The galloping kangaroo. 
Girl. 

But, really, this is no proper place 
For wild young things like you. 
Kangaroo. 

Oh, friend, if this is our welcome, then 
We'll all go back to the Zoo. 
Lion. 

The noble lion. 
Giraffe. 

The lean giraffe. 
Kangaroo. 

The curious kangaroo. 
Lion. 

We leave you, madam, with deep regret. 
Giraffe. 

We bid you a sad adieu. 
Kangaroo. 

But when you come to the city again, 
Be sure you visit the Zoo. 
Lion. 

You'll see the lion. 
Giraffe. 

You'll see the giraffe. 
Kangaroo. 

And also the kangaroo. 

{All bow and Boys exeunt.') 
CURTAIN 



The Little Stars 



Dialogue for one larger and two smaller girls. A curtain, 
preferably dark blue, is arranged across one corner of stage, 
with a large gilt star fastened near the top. The larger girl is 
concealed behind this curtain. The two smaller girls recite in 
concert, looking toward the star. 

Two Girls. 

One little star is shining 

Down from the deep blue sky, 
Peeping at us in the darkness, 

Blinking her one bright eye. 
Poor little weary wanderer ! 

Where are your playmates bright ? 
Why have they left you lonely ? 

And where' s Mrs. Moon to-night ? 

Older Girl. 

Dear little children, listen ! 

My playmates are workers, too; 
All day long they are shining 

Bright in the deep, deep blue. 
'Tis only because the sunlight 

Is brighter and stronger far, 
That you, in your far-away earth-world, 

Can see no sign of a star. 
But when you are turned from the sunlight 

And the day grows into the night, 
Then, one by one, in the darkness 

The stars show forth their light. 

Two Girls. 

Oh, star, give us some of your brightness ! 

You never would miss it, we know ; 
Then we, too, could carry the starlight, 
Clear shining, wherever we go. 

20 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 21 

Older Girl. 

Dear little children, listen ! 

You shall be stars indeed, 
Shining with brightest radiance ; 

Only to this give heed : 
Kind thoughts that your hearts may cherish 

Like stars in your eyes will glow ; 
Kind words will be rays that sparkle 

Like stars wherever you go; 
Kind deeds that you do for others 

Will be golden gleams that shine, 
To gladden the world around you 

With a brightness greater than mine. 

Two Girls. 

Dear star, we will heed the lesson, 

And shine like the stars above, 
Making the world around us 

Happy with light and love. 

CURTAIN 



{The three girls are discovered, the older one wearing on 
her breast the star that hung on the curtain, and each of 
the others a s?naller star. Together they sing or recited) 



(Chorus.) 



Like little stars we're shining, 
Making the darkness bright, 

Over the weary earth-world 
Shedding our golden light. 



Shining, shining, shining, 
Just like the stars above, 

Making the world around us 
Happy with light and love. 

Just as the stars are smiling 
Down on the earth below, 

We may reflect the sunlight, 
Shining where'er we go. 



22 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 



Each in her little corner, 
Whether at work or play, 

We would be always shining, 
Turning the night to day. 



The S. I. M.'s 



Characters : 

Ethel. Kenneth. 

Maud. Stanley. 

Dorothy. Charles. 

SCENE I. — Any room. Discovered — the three girls seated. 

Dorothy. I wonder if those boys will come. I don't feel 
at all sure about it myself. 

Maud. Oh, I hope so. If they don't I shall be awfully 
provoked. It will just spoil everything. 

Ethel. I think they'll be here. It isn't quite three o'clock 
yet. Oh, there ! See? They're coming now. (Enter boys.) 
Well, here you are. Take some seats. I was pretty sure we 
could depend on you, but the girls were afraid you'd take a 
notion not to come. 

Stanley. Did come pretty near it. 

Maud. Did you, really? 

Kenneth. Yes, sure. We didn't know what kind of a 
scheme you girls had on foot. Afraid we might fall into some 
trap. 

Dor. What an idea ! 

Maud. Very flattering, isn't it? 

Eth. Yes, indeed. I'm not sure but we ought to punish 
you by not letting you into our secret after all. 

Charles. Secret, is it? Very important, of course. 
Girls' secrets always are. 

Maud. Yes, it is important. Did you suppose we'd invite 
you here for nothing ? 

Char. Hope not; but when you come to talk about a 
secret (shakes head) — sometimes it's very near to nothing. 

Stan. That's right. But come, do go on with the thing. 
Let's have it over with. 

Ken. So I say. 

23 



24 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Eth. Well, if you'll behave for five minutes I'll tell you. 

Char. Five minutes ! 

Stan. That's rather rough on a fellow. 

Ken. I should say so. But go ahead, Ethel. We'll try 
our best. 

Eth. Listen, then. {Boys make great show of listening 
with open mouths and staring eyes?) Oh, dear, how you act ! 

Maud. Ethel, I just wouldn't tell them at all. 

Dor. I knew it was no use to try to have them in it. 

Stan. Well, what would you have us do ? 

Eth. Just be quiet and sensible, and say nothing until I get 
through. 

Ken. All right, boys ; mum's the word. 

(All sit still as statues, with grave faces.) 

Eth. Well, we want to form some kind of an improvement 
society. We haven't decided just what, but we thought it 
would be nice to get together and talk it over and make our 
plans, then, if we like, we can invite others to join. And we 
can have meetings every two weeks and have lots of fun. 
What do you think about it? (Silence for a moment.) 

Ken. Are you through ? 

Eth. Yes, I think so. 

Char. H'm. Is that all? Great secret that is, I must 
say. 

Stan. What do you expect us to do ? That's what I want 
to know. 

Eth. Why, you make some rules and try to follow them, 
and when you meet you talk it over and play games and have 
lots of fun. 

Ken. Must be something great ! 

Maud. Well, it is. And I should think you'd want to 
join. I'm sure you need it badly enough ! 

Stan. That may be; but where does the improvement part 
come in ? 

Eth. Why, it's to improve your mind, I suppose, any way 
you like. That's what we want to talk about. We might read 
something and then tell about it, or — oh, I don't know — any 
number of things. 

Stan. Oh, I see. Must be very helpful. 

Dor. We might know you wouldn't care about anything 
we get up. But you needn't make fun of it. They have an 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 25 

improvement society over at Grafton, and George and Ella 
Flint belong to it, and they say it's fine. 

Char. H'm, I see. Well, if that's what's improved 
George Flint so much, I don't think I want that kind. He's 
the biggest dude that ever walked the earth. So you can just 
count me out. 

Stan. Me, too. I don't care about that kind of improve- 
ment myself. 

Maud. You boys are too provoking for anything ! I'll tell 
you what you do need to improve most of all, and that's your 
manners. 

Ken. Ha ! Good idea, Maud ! Tell you what we'll do. 
You girls form a society for the improvement of the mind, and 
we boys will form one for the improvement of the manners. 
Of course girls' manners don't need to be improved. 

Char. Oh, no, of course not. 

Ken. A month from to-day we'll meet again, at the same 
time and place, and compare results, and see which has made 
the most progress. What do you say? 

Eth. Suppose we do it. 

Maud. I'm willing. 

Dor. So am I. 

Ken. All right, it's a bargain ! And remember, we're 
both the S. I. M.'s. 

CURTAIN 



SCENE II. — Same as Scene I. A month later. Discovered 
— the three boys seated. 

Ken. Now, don't forget your parts, boys ; do your very 
best. Here they come. {Enter girls. Boys rise a?id shake 
hands with each girl, with obsequious bows?) Ah, have you 
come at last? (To Eth., as he shakes hands.') Good-after- 
noon, Miss Ethel — Miss Maud — Miss Dorothy. I'm really 
delighted to see you once more. 

Stan, (as he shakes hands'). So happy to have the pleasure. 
I trust you are all enjoying good health this beautiful afternoon. 

Char, (as he shakes hands). I am quite overcome with 
joy at meeting you all once more. It seems an age since we 
last met. 



26 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

{Girls respond to each in turn with nods and embarrassed 
giggles.) 

Ken. Ladies, pray be seated. We offer you the best the 
house affords, and only regret that it is so poor in comparison 
with your deserts. 

{Each boy offers a chair and bows profoundly as girls are 
seated, then seats himself.) 

Eth. What in the world are you trying to do ? 

Ken. {rising). Fair ladies, I beg your attention for just a 
few moments. You remember that a month ago we agreed to 
form two societies. Yours was to be for the improvement of 
the mind and ours for the improvement of the manners. We 
have met to-day to see which has made the most progress. 
Now we shall be pleased to have a report from your honorable 
society as to what its worthy members have accomplished. 

(Sits.) 

Maud. Good gracious ! What airs ! 

Char, {bringing pillow to Maud). I'm afraid that chair 
isn't comfortable. Do let me give you this pillow. 

Maud. Oh, do go away with your old pillow ! 

Char, {restoring with a bow Dor.'s handkerchief, which 
she has dropped). Allow me. 

Dor. Really, I'm afraid you boys are overdoing yourselves. 

Ken. Oh, not at all. May we have the pleasure of hearing 
your report ? 

Maud. Go on, Ethel. 

Eth. {rising). Why, we decided to read every day a chap- 
ter from some standard author, and then we were to choose 
from our reading three new words, and try to use them that 
day in our conversation. 

Char. What a capital idea ! We should be happy to have 
some illustrations. 

Eth. Some — what ? 

Char. Will each of you kindly give us a few samples so we 
can judge as to the result ? What did you learn to-day? 

Eth. Oh ! I've just been reading Ivanhoe, and to-day my 
words were hypothesis, apprehension and malevolence. But 
I haven't had a chance to use them yet. They don't seem to 
fit very well in every-day conversation. {Sits.) 

Maud. That's just the trouble with me. To-day I read 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 27 

from The Sketch Book, and my words were fallacy, con- 
viviality and felicity. Now, how can I use those without mak- 
ing up sentences on purpose? 

Stan. Really, it is a difficult matter, I should say. How 
is it with you, Dot — I beg your pardon, I mean Miss Dorothy. 

Dor. Oh, I forgot mine yesterday and again to-day. One 
day I had the word cadaverous, and I told father that old Mr. 
Simms was a cadaverous-looking person, and he looked at me 
in astonishment. That's about the only word that I've ever 
been able to use and make any sense. 

Stan. But they'll be stored in your mind, and some day 
they'll drop from your lips like — like pearls 

Era. Oh, mercy ! Do be still ! You're all too silly for 
anything. 

Boys (bowing). Thank you. 

Maud. Do tell us what on earth you've been doing that 
makes you act so ridiculous. 

Ken. Why, cultivating our manners, to be sure; and we 
humbly beseech you, fair ladies, to tell us whether you think 
we have improved. 

Eth. Improved ! I should say so. There's no doubt 
about that. I'm sure we are willing to admit that your side 
has won. We couldn't begin to show off like this. 

Maud. No; but I must say it's terribly overdone. 

Dor. And I'm afraid it's too violent to last. 

Ken. Thank you, ladies {all boys bow), for the credit you 
give us, but really, we couldn't think of being so impolite as to 
carry off the honors. What you have done may not appear so 
plainly on the surface, but no doubt your improvement has 
been far greater than ours. All honor to the young ladies of 
the S. I. M. {Boys bow.) 

Eth. Do stop your nonsense ! 

Dor. What / should like to know is where you learned all 
this stuff. 

Ken. Stuff! That's another compliment. Tell .them, 
Charles. They don't seem to take account of what I say. 

Char. Well, father gave us a few points from Lord Ches- 
terfield, I believe it was, and we've been reading all the books 
on etiquette we could lay our hands on, — pretty dry stuff it 
was, too, — then we practiced among ourselves, and — behold 
the result ! 

Maud. I should think as much! And, for my part, I've 
had enough of it. 



28 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Stan. What ! If I'm not mistaken, it was you that sug- 
gested it. 

Maud. Yes; but you've gone to such an extreme. I think 
if I had to choose, I'd rather have you the way you were 
before. 

Hi} So would I. 

Stan. Good ! It would be a great relief, wouldn't it, 
boys? 

Ken. It certainly would. 

Char. Immense ! I'm tired of trying to be a Chesterfield. 
It's too much of a strain on a fellow. 

Eth. But I suppose there is such a thing as a happy 
medium. 

Ken. Yes, if we could only strike it. 

Eth. And perhaps we girls need to try for it as well as 
you. 

Char. We'd never think of suggesting such a thing, would 
we, boys? 

Maud. But I really think we do. 

Dor. And so do I. 

Ken. Then suppose we all try for it. We'll merge our two 
societies into one, and we'll shake hands on it here and now. 
{Each boy shakes hands with a girl and bows in moderation.*) 
The honorable members of the S. I. M. 



CURTAIN 



Mrs. Webster's Address 



Characters : 

Mr. Webster. 
Mrs. Webster. 
Julia, the maid. 



SCENE I. — A sitting-room. Discovered — Mr. Webster 
seated at table, working at accounts. Mrs. Webster 
sewing. 

Mrs. W. For mercy's sake, Henry, aren't you ever going 
to get through with those accounts? You haven't spoken a 
word for the last half hour. What are you doing, anyway? 

Mr. W. Trying to plan how to make one dollar do the 
work of two. But I don't seem to succeed very well. 

Mrs. W. I should think not. But why try to do such an 
impossible thing? 

Mr. W. From necessity, my dear, nothing else. I find 
we add to our expenses every year, but we don't add to our 
income. I've been going to speak to you about it for some 
time. The fact is, we've got to economize somewhere. 

Mrs. W. Economize ! Oh, Henry ! Just as if I didn't 
try to save every way, and go without lots and lots of things 
that I really need ! I think you're just too unreasonable for 
anything ! 

Mr. W. Oh, come, now, don't fly out about it. Yes, I 
suppose you do try, or you think you do, but you know how 
easily money goes. It's the grocer or the butcher or the mil- 
liner or the dressmaker, and the bills come in faster than I can 
pay them. 

Mrs. W. Oh, of course you lay it all to me ! How about 
yourself? I'm not the only one that eats, and I haven't had a 
new dress or a hat in ages. 

Mr. W. No, it must be a month, at least. 

Mrs. W. A month ! It must be three if it's a day. And, 
really, Henry, I need a new dress right now. You know I have 

29 



30 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

to speak at the next meeting of the Woman's Club, and, ac- 
tually, I haven't anything suitable to wear. 

Mr. W. Nothing to wear ! Will you tell me what's be- 
come of that black lace thing that cost fifty dollars ? I paid 
the dressmaker's bill only last week. 

Mrs. W. But I've worn that so many times. People will 
begin to think I have only the one. I really must have some- 
thing new. And, Henry, I — I may as well tell you, I've just 
ordered a dress of Madam Griffin. 

Mr. W. Ordered one ! You have ! Will you tell me who 
you expect to pay for it? /can't, that's sure. 

Mrs. W. Oh, Henry, how foolishly you talk! It's only 
one of those light weight silks, and not at all expensive. I 
don't believe, with the making and all, it will cost more than 
twenty-five dollars. 

Mr. W. Oh, yes, I know how it will be. You can safely 
add ten more to it by the time it's done. Madam Griffin 
knows how to charge. I tell you, Anna, you'll ruin me yet 
with your extravagance. 

Mrs. W. Henry ! I didn't think you'd talk to me like that. 
{Cries,') You're too — unkind — for anything ! 

Mr. W. There, there ! For heaven's sake, don't make a 
scene. I've got trouble enough now. {Looks at watch.) 
I've got to go out for a little while. I'll be back in half an 
hour. Good-bye. [Exit. 

Mrs. W. {still sobbing). The idea of making such a fuss 
over a little thing like that! I don't care; I've got to have 
the dress, and I will have it, anyway. So there ! 

CURTAIN 



SCENE II. — Same room. Discovered — Mrs. W., busily writ- 
ing at table with books lying open about her. Reads from 
book, writes rapidly, nibbles peti thoughtfully. 

Mrs. W. Let's see. Do you spell separate with two a's or 
two e's ? ( Writes.) I guess that's right. There, that sounds 
fine. I've put in a lot of big words ; I hardly know the mean- 
ing of some of them myself, but it will make the ladies think 
I'm very learned. {Enter Mr. W. in shirt sleeves, coat in 
hand.) Oh, Henry ! What do you want now? 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 3 1 

Mr. W. Here's two buttons off my new coat, and when I 
went to put on a clean pair of socks this was what I found. 

{Holds up sock with en or?? 10 us hole in it.) 

Mrs. W. Oh, dear; I know it. I was going to sew the 
buttons all on your coat when you got it, but I couldn't get 
lime. I didn't even do the mending last week; I've been so 
busy writing my address. And now I'm afraid I won't have it 
done in time. Can't you fix your things yourself? 

Mr. W. I suppose I might manage to sew on the buttons, 
but I draw the line at darning that hole. 

Mrs. W. Well, you'll have to do the best you can ; I can't 
stop now. And please don't even speak to me. I've got to 
think. 

{Puts hands over ears. Mr. W. gets sewing materials and 
works awkwardly at sewing on buttons, .) 

Enter Julia, weari?ig ?iurse?naid 1 s cap a?id apron. 

Julia. Please, Mrs. Webster 

Mrs. W. Well, Julia, what is it ? 

Julia. Harry won't go to sleep, and he wants to know if 
he can come down and sit with you for a little while, if he'll be 
good. 

Mrs. W. Oh, no, Julia. I'm busy wkh something very 
important. You'll have to get him to sleep as best you can. 
I can't be bothered with him now. 

Julia. Yes'm. [Exit. 

Mrs. W. Well, at this rate I shan't get along at all. Let's 
see. Where was I? Oh, yes; about the mother's influence. 
(Writes.) There! That's a very important point, and I 
think I've put it in a telling way. {Enter Julia.) Dear me, 
Julia, what is it now ? 

Julia. Please, Mrs. Webster, the children are quarreling, 
and I can't do anything with them. Harry struck Myrtle and 
made her cry, and they're having an awful time. 

Mrs. W. Oh, dear ! Why can't they go to sleep peace- 
ably like good children? Well, I simply can't go, Julia; 
you'll have to get along some way. Punish them both if you 
can't do any better, but don't interrupt me again on any ac- 
count. Do you understand ? 

Julia. Yes'm. [Exit. 



32 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Mrs. VV. I do hope I can have five minutes' peace. It 
seems as if I should never get this thing written, and then I've 
got to commit it all to memory. 

Mr. W. You have ! 

Mrs. W. Why, certainly. 

Mr. W. Why not read it ? 

Mrs. W. Oh, no, indeed ! All the others speak theirs, 
and I'm not going to be outdone. 

Mr. W. I see. May I inquire what it's all about ? 

Mrs. W. Oh, the subject is " Woman's Opportunity in the 
Home." I've written a lot about what she can do to make 
home happy, how she can share all her husband's cares and be 
a true helpmeet to him, and how much her care and training 
and influence will do for her children, -and all that sort of 
thing, you know. But now the trouble is to make a good end- 
ing. I want to sum it all up, and say something that will be 
effective and leave a strong impression. 

Mr. W. I see. No doubt it's very interesting. I suppose 
you don't say anything about the woman darning her husband's 
stockings. 

Mrs. W. Henry ! I think that's real mean of you. {Bell 
rings. ) For pity's sake ! W T ho's coming now ? Do go to the 
door, Henry. I positively can't see anybody to-night. {Exit 
Mr. W. Mrs. W. writes frantically. Enter Mr. W. with 
box.) Who was it? Oh! my dress from Madam Griffin! 
(Springs forward eagerly and seizes box.) Do let me look at 
it ! ( Opens box and takes out dress. Letter falls out un- 
noticed. Holds up dress admiringly.) My ! Isn't it sweet ! 
Oh, I didn't know she was going to put on all that lace, but it 
makes it much prettier. Oh, it's just too dear for anything ! 

Mr. W. And a dear price, too, I'll warrant. {Picks up 
letter.) Here, probably this is the bill. I suppose you'll let 
me have that. ( Opens and looks at bill.) Great Scott ! Look 
at that, will you? 

Mrs. W. {looking at it as he holds it out). Oh ! I don't 
see how it could be so much as that ! 

Mr. W. No, of course you don't see. You never do. But 
what I don't see is how it's to be paid for. 

Mrs. W. But, Henry, how could I help it ? I didn't mean 
to have it cost so much. Anyway, you ought to be glad to 
have me look nice. This is so pretty, and I know it will be 
becoming. 

Mr. W. Oh, no doubt it will. {Children's cries heard.) 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 33 

Hark ! Julia's evidently carrying out your orders. I'll have 
to go and settle matters, for of course you've got to finish that 
address. [Exit. 

Mrs. W. Oh, dear, yes. I don't believe I'll ever get the 
thing done. {Puts dress back in box.} Oh, this is too lovely 
for anything, but I shan't enjoy wearing it now Henry's made 
such a fuss. I wonder if things are really as bad as he tries to 
make out. {Sits dovun at table, head on hand.} 

CURTAIN 



SCENE III. — Same room. Discovered — Mr. W., seated, read- 
ing newspaper. 

Enter Mrs. W. in the new gown, hat and gloves in hand. 

Mrs. W. Now, Henry, I'm all ready to start, but it's early 
yet, and I thought I'd come in and show you how nice I look. 
{Makes a curtsey.) Now don't you think I'll do you credit? 
You ought to be there to hear my address. Let me say the last 
part of it for you. {Lays hat and gloves on table and stands 
off as though before a?i audience.) There is an opening for 
woman to-day in every sphere — the trades, the arts, the pro- 
fessions — she may enter any one of them, and follow her chosen 
vocation without fear or favor. She may win what the world 
calls success, but it will be only an empty prize. For it is in 
the home that woman finds her true sphere, her highest voca- 
tion, her noblest opportunity. Here is the widest scope for her 
talents; here, as companion, counselor, comforter, teacher 
and guide, she may accomplish the greatest results, and gain 
the richest reward. {Bows profoundly.) Now, what do you 
think of that ? 

Mr. W. Fine ! fine ! Now sit down and listen to my ad- 
dress. {Rises and addresses imaginary audience.) Ladies 
and — ahem — ladies, I wish to add a few remarks to what Mrs. 
Webster has said. Her subject is a very important one. 1 
agree with her entirely ; if her ideas were carried out, many 
homes would be happier than they are now. But I fear that in 
reality the woman often falls far short of her opportunity. I 
have known cases — of course this does not apply to any of you 
— where the woman was so absorbed in work for her club that 
she could not find time to sew on her husband's buttons or 
mend his stockings 



34 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Mrs. W. Oh, Henry ! 

Mr. W. And where she even felt obliged to neglect her 
children, because the demands of the club were more im- 
portant. 

Mrs. W. Hen-xy ! 

Mr. W. And I regret to say that I have known at least one 
case where the woman spent money thoughtlessly, without re- 
gard to her husband's income, and refused to listen when he 
tried to make her understand that he was living beyond his 
means 

Mrs. W. {rising and seizing his arm). Oh, don't, don't! 
You mean me ; 1 know you do. 

Mr. W. You ! How could any one that has such fine 
theories fail to carry them out in practice ? It couldn't pos- 
sibly apply to you. 

Mrs. W. Oh, but it does; I know it does. I didn't see 
before. I didn't think. I'm ashamed of myself; truly I am ! 
I won't go at all. Yes, I must go, but it will be the last time. 
And I won't wear this dress ; I won't keep it ; I'll send it back 
to Madam Griffin. She said Mrs. Dermott was crazy for it, 
and she can have it. I thank you for your address, Mr. Web- 
ster (with a little boiv), and I'm going to profit by it. It has 
probably done more good than mine will. 



CURTAIN 



Aunt Patience's Umbrella 



Characters : 

Aunt Patience Harmon. 

Florence. 

Esther. 

Dr. French. 



SCENE. — A sitting-room. Discovered — Esther, sewing. 

Enter Florenxe, in a state of great excitement. 

Flor. Oh, Esther ! I'm in such trouble ! What shall I 
do ? Aunt Patience's umbrella is lost, and / am responsible. 

{Sinks despairingly into a seat.) 

Es. Why, Florence, how did it happen ? 

Flor. Oh, I lent it this morning to Dr. French. I ought 
to have known better, but it was pouring when he went home, 
so I thought he ought to have an umbrella. That was the only 
one I could find, and without stopping to think, I gave it to 
him. I wish now I'd let him get wet ! 

Es. But why ? Won't he return it ? 

Flor. Return it ! Bless you ! He's the most forgetful 
man you ever saw. He gets his mind on some important case 
and he has no thought for anything else. I met him on the 
street just now and asked him about it. I know it wasn't the 
proper thing to do, but I felt that I must. And what do you 
suppose he said ? 

Es. Do tell me. I'm not good at guessing. 

Flor. (imitating the doctor). "I — I'm extremely sorry, Miss 
Florence, but, really, I have no recollection of your giving me 
any umbrella. But I assure you I'll look for it immediately 
when I get home and bring it over at once." 

Es. Well, then, what are you worrying about ? 

Flor. Oh, my dear ! You don't know the doctor as I do. 

35 



36 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

He's to be my brother-in-law some day, but I tell Sister Kate 
he'll probably forget to appear at the wedding. I haven't a 
doubt he's already forgotten that I spoke to him, and anyway, 
he has most likely taken the umbrella somewhere and lost it be- 
fore this time. I know we shall never see it again. 

Es. But why let it trouble you ? Can't you buy your aunt 
another one ? 

Flor. Another 1 Oh, Esther, no, indeed ! No other 
would take its place. It was a gift from an old friend who 
bought it somewhere abroad, Paris, I think, and Aunt Patience 
thinks the world of it. She scarcely ever uses it — oh, no, it's 
too choice ! but she shows it to everybody that comes to the 
house, and tells its whole history. She'll never forgive me, 
never in the world ! 

Es. You poor child ! I'm awfully sorry, but really, I don't 
believe it will be so bad as all that. 

Flor. Oh, Esther, you don't know Aunt Patience. She 
should have been named /^-patience, for she flies out at the 
least little thing. And the worst of it is we're quite dependent 
on the money she pays for her board, and we have to try so 
hard not to offend her, and now to think I should go and do 
such a thing as this ! I know she'll be simply furious when 
she finds it out.. 

Es. Poor Florence ! I wish I could help you find it. 
Don't you think 

Flor. Oh, hush ! I believe she's coming now. Dear me ! 
What shall I do? {Enter Aunt Patience. Flor. rises.) 
Take this chair, Aunt Patience. I hope your headache is 
better. 

Aunt P. No, I don't want any chair. I'm looking for my 
umbrella that Cousin Alonzo brought me. Have you girls 
seen anything of it ? 

Flor. Why, I — I haven't seen it to-day, Aunt Patience, 
or, in fact, for two or threed ays. When did you have it last? 

Aunt P. (impatiently). I had it — oh, I don't know when— 
Tuesday or Wednesday, — but what difference does that make? 
I certainly haven't taken it out of the house and it ought to be 
here, but I can't find it anywhere. You haven't used it, have 
you? 

Flor. Why, no, Aunt Patience, I — I 

Es. Are you going out, Miss Harmon ? If you are I shall 
be glad to lend you my umbrella, and perhaps yours will come 
to light. 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 37 

Flor. {eagerly'). Oh, yes, Aunt Patience, or you can take 
mine. Let me get it for you. 

Aunt P. (snappishly). No, I'm not going out. And I 
don't want anybody else's umbrella ; I want my own. I left 
it in the hall, but it isn't there now. It's plain to be seen that 
somebody has taken it, and /Vlike to know who. 

Flor. Oh, Aunt Patience, let me explain. I'm very sorry, 
but I — I'm afraid — that is — I— oh, here's Dr. French ! 

E?iter Dr. French. 

Dr. F. {holding up an old dilapidated umbrella). Here, 
Miss Florence, here is the umbrella you lent me. I'm very 
much obliged. You see I didn't forget it this time. Oh, I 
believe it was your umbrella, Miss Harmon, and Miss Florence 
said you would be very sorry to lose it. I'm so glad I found 
it. This is the one, isn't it? (Opens it.) 

Aunt P. (lifting her hands in horror). That my umbrella? 
That old, cheap, dilapidated thing ? Well, I guess not, young 
man ! You're very much mistaken. Mine is an elegant silk 
umbrella with a gold handle. Cousin Alonzo Fairweather 
brought it to me from Switzerland. He had my initials en- 
graved on the handle — P. L. H. (Knock is heard. Exit Es.) 
Cousin Alonzo, you know, was my third cousin on my mother's 
side, and he was very well off. He used to go abroad every 
year, and he always brought me a nice present. He brought 
me the umbrella the year before he died. I wouldn't have it 
lost for anything. But what's all this about Florence lending 
you an umbrella — my umbrella, did you say ? 

Flor. Oh, Aunt Patience, I'll tell you all about it. I did 
lend your umbrella to Dr. French that day it rained. I'm so 
sorry. I ought not to have done it, but I never stopped to think. 
And he forgot to bring it back, and now he can't find it. 

Aunt P. Well, that was smart, I must say ! Carried an 
umbrella across the street, and forgot to return it, and even 
forgot, I suppose, that you ever borrowed it ! 

Dr. F. It's disgraceful, I know, Miss Harmon, and I can 
only beg your pardon. I'm really ashamed of myself. 

Aunt P. I should think you'd better be. 

Flor. But it was my fault, Aunt Patience. I ought never 
to have lent it. I'm dreadfully sorry. 

Aunt P. I should think you'd better be. But I suppose 
you realize that all these regrets and apologies don't bring back 
my umbrella. 



38 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Both (regretfully). I know it. 

Enter Es. with Aunt P.'s umbrella. 
Es. Hurrah ! the missing umbrella is found ! 

{Hands it to Aunt P., who opens ana 7 examines it.) 
Flor. . Oh, Esther ! You dear good girl ! 

{Hugs her in ecstasy of delight.} 

Aunt P. Yes, this is mine. Where did you find it ? 

Es. Bridget just found it. Guess where. 

Flor. Bridget ! Oh, we can never guess. Do tell us. 

Es. In the china closet. 

Flor. In the china closet ! How on earth came it there? 

Es. Bridget says she saw the doctor come in yesterday with 
the umbrella under his arm, and afterward she heard him go to 
the china closet for a glass ; so it looks very much as though 
he took the glass from the closet and left the umbrella. 

Dr. F. Yes — yes, I remember now. It all comes back to 
me. That's just the way it happened. So you see, Miss 
Harmon, I did return the umbrella, after all. 

Aunt P. Yes, I see you did, but I shan't risk it again. 
I'll tell you, Florence, why I wanted the umbrella to-day. I 
remembered that it is your birthday, and I wanted to give it 
to you for a birthday present. {Hands wnbrella to Flor.) 

Flor. Oh, Aunt Patience, how kind, how lovely of you ! 
Thank you so much; but indeed, I don't deserve it ! 

Aunt P. No, I don't think you do, but sometimes, you 
know, people get more than they deserve. One thing I advise 
you, never lend it to Dr. French, for he might forget to 
return it. 

Flor. No, auntie, I'll be sure to remember that. 

Dr. F. {holding tip the old umbrella). And /shall neither 
borrow nor lend. 

(Dr. F. and Flor. stand in foreground, each with 
umbrella.} 



CURTAIN 



The Dog, the Cat and the Rat 



A dialogue for three little boys. 

First Boy. 

If I were a rat, with a great, long tail 

And shining, bright black eyes, 
And a gray fur coat, and a long, sharp nose, 

I'd be very, very wise. 
I'd know ray way to the pantry shelf 

And the cooky jar, you see, 
And I'd run so fast on my velvet toes, 

No cat could ever catch me. 

Second Boy (to First). 

If I were a cat, with bright green eyes, 

That could see in the darkest night, 
You'd feel my claws in your gray fur coat, 

And you'd grow quite pale with fright; 
For I'd be clever and wise and spry, — 

Aha, my friend ! You'd see ! 
And I'd run so fast on my velvet toes, 

No dog could ever catch me. 

Third Boy (to Second). 

If I were a dog, with big, strong paws, 

Aha, my friend ! You'd see ! 
I'd chase you over the garden wall 

And up the highest tree. 
Then I'd wag my tail and bark so loud 

Your heart would go pit-a-pat, 
And you'd cover your face with a maple leaf; 

Now what do you think of that ? 

39 



40 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

All (in concert). 

The dog and the cat, and the cat and the rat 

Will never, no, never agree, 
So we will be glad we are only boys, 

As happy as boys can be. 

(All throw arms around one another and walk off stage to- 
gether.} 



The Aqua Marina Panacea 



A dialogue for nine ladies, or large girls dressed as ladies. 

SCENE. — A parlor. Seven ladies seated with fancy work, as 
at an afternoon party. Hostess, Mrs. Truman. Guests, 
Mrs. Allen, Mrs. Grant, Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Green, 
Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Appleton. 

Mrs. Allen (holding up work). There! I've finished one 
piece; now I'm going to begin another. This centerpiece is 
just like Mrs. Franklin's. I got the pattern from her ; isn't it 
pretty ? 

Ladies (all exclaiming). Yes ! Yes, indeed ! Perfectly 
lovely ! Beautiful ! 

Mrs. T. That reminds me : I'm so disappointed that Mrs. 
Franklin couldn't be here this afternoon. She just sent me 
word that she has one of her poor turns and isn't able to 
come. 

Mrs. Grant. Why, that's too bad ! 

Mrs. J. Isn't it ! 

Mrs. W. Why, yes;' what a pity ! 

Mrs. Appleton. It seems to me she's ailing most of the 
time. 

Mrs. Green. I know it; she is; and yet she's always 
dosing. I can tell you, you'd be surprised if you knew the 
amount of medicine that woman takes, first one kind, then 
another. Everything she hears of she has to try. / believe it 
only makes her worse off instead of better. 

Mrs. Grant. Oh, I haven't a doubt of it ! I think this 
buying patent medicines is the greatest nonsense ! I never 
think of taking anything of the kind. 

Mrs. W. Nor I either, Mrs. Green. Why, you can't tell, 
you might be taking just the very thing you ought not. I think 
it's the height of foolishness ! 

Mrs. Allen. So do I, Mrs. Wilson. My cousin Jane is 

41 



42 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

just that way. She's taken bottle after bottle of stuff that hasn't 
done her a particle of good. I've told her time and again that 
it was only a waste of money. I hope I've got more sense. 

Mrs. J. How can any one be taken in by these patent 
medicine advertisements, anyway? When they pretend to 
cure everything you can be pretty sure they won't cure any- 
thing. That's what /say. 

Mrs. Appleton. I quite agree with you, Mrs. Johnson. 
When I read of a medicine that cured in a few days some case 
of years' standing given up by the doctors, I simply say, That's 
a lie on the face of it ! No, indeed, no patent medicines 
for me ! 

Mrs. Green. Well, we all seem to be agreed on that sub- 
ject. I don't think the patent medicine sharks will be likely 
to get very rich out of us. 

Mrs. T. I should say not. But I suppose there are plenty 
of gullible people who will continue to be taken in by them to 
the end of time. {Looks out of window and lowers voice.) 
I wonder who that is coming up the walk. Can you see, Mrs. 
Grant ? 

Mrs. Grant. It's a stranger to me. 

All {cra?iing necks and exclaiming). Why, I don't know ! 
Nor I ! It's no one /ever saw before. Who can it be? 

{Bell rings.) 

Mrs. T. Excuse me, ladies. {Exit. Enters with lady 
carrying bag.) Ladies, this is Mrs. I beg your 'par- 
don {Turns to stranger.) 

Stranger. Mrs. Van Rensselaer Harrington. So glad to 
meet you all, ladies ! {Bows and smiles to right and left.) It 
is, indeed, a great and unexpected pleasure. Thank you. {To 
Mrs. T., who offers chair.) I am very weary. I have walked 
a long distance and my bag is exceedingly heavy. {Beams on 
them all.) You are evidently gathered together for a social 
hour, and I feel myself almost an intruder. But I will explain 
my errand immediately, and I am sure that the few moments' 
interview you have so kindly granted me will prove to be for 
your ultimate advantage, and that you will all feel yourselves 
rewarded a hundredfold. I must tell you first that I am a sis- 
ter-in-law of the celebrated Dr. Oldsberry, of Boston. Of 
course it is quite unnecessary for me to remind you of his re- 
searches in the field of medical science, for his fame is world- 
wide. Every one has read and heard of Dr. Oldsberry, and it 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 43 

goes without saying that ladies so intelligent and progressive as 
yourselves must be perfectly familiar with his work. [Looks 
about questioningly. Ladies make little murmurs of doubtful 
assent?) Now, I have to tell you that one of his most impor- 
tant discoveries has never been given to the public, yet its re- 
sults in a limited sphere have been simply marvelous, and we 
feel that at last the time has come when it should be revealed 
to a suffering world. This discovery of which I speak is a very 
simple remedy, yet one which works the most astounding cures. 
{Takes a bottle from her bag.) We call it the Aqua Marina 
Panacea. Interesting name, isn't it? (Ladies murmur as- 
sent.) You observe that it is entirely colorless and clear as 
crystal. {Holds bottle up to view.) Every bottle has Dr. 
Oldsberry's personal guarantee, and you know what that means. 
Let me show you the label. (Hands a bottle to each lady, 
talking meanwhile.) The liquid is absolutely tasteless, and yet 
its power is wonderful. Indeed, you would never believe me 
if I were to tell you one-tenth of the cures it has effected. 
Now, I am not in any sense an agent. I make no profit what- 
ever on the Aqua Marina Panacea ; I am only giving my time 
and my efforts for the benefit of suffering humanity. 

(Looks about at ladies.) 

Mrs. T. A worthy object, certainly. 

(Other ladies murmur approval.) 

Mrs. V. R. H. Indeed, I feel that it is well worth any 
amount of personal sacrifice. [Takes out another bottle.) 
Now, the regular price of the Aqua Marina Panacea, as you see 
by the label, is one dollar a bottle. This amount barely cov- 
ers the actual cost of the ingredients. But just to introduce it 
I am selling one bottle only to each person for ninety-eight 
cents. You can see that we lose money in so doing, but that 
is not worth considering for a moment. Now, I venture to say 
there are as many as three ladies here who are subject to fre- 
quent headaches. (Looks about questioningly. Mrs. Allen, 
Mrs. Grant and Mrs. J. look at one another cojisciously.) I 
thought so ! (Nods her head.) Let me assure you, ladies, 
that the Aqua Marina Panacea has never failed to cure head- 
ache, whatever the cause. I give you my word of honor that 
within a week's time after taking the Aqua Marina Panacea your 
headache will be a thing of the past. Isn't it worth a trial ? 



44 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Mrs. Allen. It would seem so. {Other two assent.} 
Mrs. V. R. H. Most certainly ! And now I believe I may 
truthfully say that at least two of these ladies are troubled with 
indigestion. (Mrs. W. andMRS. Appleton exchange glances.') 
I see I am right. I want to tell you that this is an infallible 
remedy for indigestion in any form whatsoever. So great is 
our faith in it that we offer five hundred dollars in gold for any 
case of indigestion that Aqua Marina Panacea fails to cure. 
Can anything be fairer than that ? 
Mrs. Appleton. I should think not. 

(Mrs. W. assents.) 

Mrs. V. R. H. Most certainly not ! And now, if I am 
not mistaken, there are ladies here who are victims of nervous- 
ness and sleeplessness. (Mrs. T. and Mrs. Green exchange 
glances.) Ah, yes; I felt sure of it ! But now {impressively) 
you need suffer no longer, for you will find an immediate and 
permanent cure in Aqua Marina Panacea. In this case I can 
cite my own experience as proof. I had suffered for years from 
extreme nervousness, and had tried many doctors in vain, but 
in three days — three days, mind you, Aqua Marina Panacea 
worked a complete cure. I have never lost an hour's sleep 
since, and that was seven years ago. Now, isn't that a re- 
markable experience ? 

Mrs. Green. I should think so, indeed. 

(Mrs. T. assents.) 

Mrs. V. R. H. Most certainly ! And now, ladies, I am 
sure you will all be grateful to me for bringing this magical 
remedy to your notice. And the fact that we are selling it at 
so great a reduction will of course appeal to you strongly. 
This will be your only opportunity of securing it at the phe- 
nomenally low price of ninety-eight cents. Of course you will 
each take a bottle ? 

[Rises and closes bag, looking about inquiringly.) 

Mrs. Allen. I — I think I will try it. If it will really cure 
headache it is well worth the money. 

{Pays Mrs. V. R. H. one dollar and receives change.) 

Mrs. J. Yes, indeed, it is, Mrs. Allen. I believe I'll give 
it a trial, at least. 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 45 

(Pays and receives change.*) 

Mrs. Grant. And so will I. If there is a remedy for 
headache I'm very glad to discover it. 

{Pays and receives c/iange.) 

Mrs. V. R. H. Thank you, thank you, ladies ! I know 
you will never regret it. 

Mrs. T. If I really believed anything could cure me of 
sleeplessness I should be willing to pay almost any price for it ; 
but I've tried so many doctors 

Mrs. V. R. H. Ah, that's just it, my dear Mrs. Truman ! 
How can you doubt after what I have told you of my own ex- 
perience? Don't allow this opportunity to pass, I beg of you, 
or you will regret it to your dying day ! 

Mrs. T. Well, I think I'll try it, anyway; it can do no 
harm. [Exit. 

Mrs. Green. I feel somewhat as Mrs. Truman does about 
it; but if she's going to try it I think I will. 

Mrs. V. R. H. Do, by all means ! 

(Mrs. Green pay s and receives change?) 
Enter Mrs. T., with purse. 
Mrs. T. I believe that's right. 

{Pays and receives change. ) 

Mrs. V. R. H. Thank you, thank you, ladies ! I'm sure 
you will never be sorry. 

Mrs. Appleton. I — I think I should like to try a bottle, 
if it really cures indigestion, but to tell the truth, I haven't a 
cent of money with me. 

Mrs. W. Oh, Mrs. Appleton, that is just my case exactly ! 

Mrs. T. Why, I can lend you the money just as well as 
not! 

Mrs. Appleton. Oh, if you could ! 

Mrs. T. Why, certainly ! 

Mrs. W. How kind of you ! 

(Mrs. T. hands each a dollar from her purse, which they 
pass on to Mrs. V. R. H., and receive change.) 

Mrs. V .R. H. {making ready to go). Thank you, thank 



46 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

you, ladies ! I am sure you will always remember me with the 
deepest gratitude. Allow me before I go to call your attention 
to the directions on the label. {All look at bottles which they 
hold.') " A teaspoonful one hour before each meal." These 
must be followed implicitly, and I promise you, you may look 
for marvelous results. I am very grateful that I have been 
able to bring to your notice so invaluable a remedy as the 
Aqua Marina Panacea. I bid you all good-afternoon. 

{Bows and exits, followed to door by Mrs. T. All examin- 
ing bottles as Mrs. T. enters.) 

Mrs. T. Well, isn't she a talker ! I tried my best at first 
to keep her from coming in, but perhaps it's just as well I 
didn't succeed. {Takes up bottle.) ~" An hour before eating." 
{Looks at clock.) It's just about an hour to tea time. Shall 
we each take a dose now ? 

Ladies [exclaiming). Why, yes ! So we might ! Sup- 
pose we do ! 

Mrs. T. I'll get some spoons. 

{Exit and enter with eight spoons, which she passes around. 
Each solemnly pours out and swallows a teaspoonful, all 
standing. Must be done in exact accord. One or two 
make wry faces.) 

Mrs. Grant. Why, it's not bad ! 
Mrs. J. Why, there's no taste to it ! 
Mrs. W. Just like water ! 

{All stand with bottle in one hand and spoon in the other 
when door opens suddenly.) 

Enter Mrs. Spier, in street dress, disordered, breathless and 
excited. 

Mrs. S. Oh, I beg your pardon, but is there a lady here, 
— a tall lady in a blue suit and furs ? [Looks around anxiously.) 
Mrs. T. What do you mean ? 

{All the ladies stare in consternation, still holding up bottles 
and spoons.) 

Mrs. S. Why, I'm Mrs. Spier, the assistant matron of the 
Home for Hapless Females, on Waterman Street. One of our 
charges escaped from the institution this morning, and as soon 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 47 

as we discovered it I followed her. I was told she came in 
here. Haven't you seen her? Where is she ? 

Mrs. T. Tell me ! Do you mean a lady with a grip, sell- 
ing — a {Reads from bottle.*) " Aqua Marina Panacea ? " 

Mrs. S. Dear me ! I don't know what she might have 
been selling ; but very likely. She's always preparing some 
dose for the other inmates that's warranted to cure every ail- 
ment, from headache to corns. If you've bought any of her 
stuff I advise you not to touch it. There's no knowing 

Ladies (screaming, drop bottles here and there and ex- 
claim). Oh, mercy ! But we've taken it ! We've taken it ! 
What shall I do ! Oh, oh, I'm poisoned ! etc. 

(One sinks on floor, others i?ito chairs. One clasps hands 
over stomach, etc., all assuming attitudes of distress.) 

Mrs. S. Oh, don't be frightened to death ! It may be 
perfectly harmless. Let me see it. (Takes a bottle, holds it 
to the light, takes a drop on end of tongue, while others groan 
and watch her anxiously.) Don't be frightened, ladies ! I 
rather think it's only water. Yes, I'm sure of it. I remember 
now she had some empty peppermint bottles in her room, and 
this morning she was in the bathroom a long time, washing 
them. There wasn't another thing in there that she could 
have got but water, and I know well enough that's it. She 
filled them up with it and started out. I'm sure it's all right. 
But now can you tell me which way she went? 

(Ladies gradually grow calmer, as Mrs. S. speaks.) 

Mrs. T. (rising and pointing). She went down the street, 
that way. I think, Mrs. Spier, if you have any more such 
charges, you'd better keep them under lock and key. We 
might all have been dead by this time. 

Mrs. S. Indeed, I'm very sorry, Mrs. Truman. We'll try 
not to have such a thing happen again. I hope you will 
feel no ill effects from your Aqua Marina Panacea. Good- 
afternoon ! [Exit Mrs. S., hastily. 

Mrs. Grant. Well, if that doesn't beat all I ever heard 
of! 

Mrs. T. I should think as much ! 

Mrs. W. I say they have no business to let a person like 
that run at large. It's positively dangerous. 

Mrs. Appleton. Indeed it is ! She might poison the whole 
neighborhood. 



48 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Mrs. Green/ And all our money gone for nothing ! 

Mrs. J. It's a shame ! I think the institution ought to be 
compelled to pay it back ! 

Mrs. Allen. Do you know what I think? I think we've 
all made fools of ourselves, and the more quiet we keep about 
it the better. 

{Ladies all silent for a moment.) 

Mrs. Green. Mrs. Allen, I believe you're right. 



CURTAIN 



The Three Jacks 



Characters : 

First Jack {Little Jack Horner). 
Second Jack {Jack and the Beanstalk). 
Third Jack {Jack and Jill). 

SCENE. — Any room. Discovered — First Jack, with a small 
pie balanced o?i the fi?igers of one hand. 

ist Jack (to audience). Ladies and gentlemen, you see 
before you one of the noted characters of history. You will no 
doubt recognize me at once as the great and only Jack, well 
known to every man, woman and child, made forever famous 
by the pen of the immortal poet, Mother Goose. 

(Group of children behind scenes sing or recite, while Jack 
stands in attitude of listening.) 

Little Jack Horner 

Sat in a corner, 

Eating a Christmas pie ; 

He put in his thumb 

And pulled out a plum, 

And said, " What a great boy am I ! " 

ist Jack (to audience). You hear, good friends, this testi- 
mony to my greatness. My fame is known the world over, to 
young and old, high and low, rich and poor 

Enter Second Jack with stri?ig of beans about his neck } and 
Third Jack with pail and piece of brown paper. 

2D Jack. Look here, old fellow ! You needn't try to make 
yourself out so high and mighty. Here are two other Jacks 
quite as renowned as yourself. 

ist Jack. What ! You must be mistaken ! 

49 



50 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

3D Jack. Indeed, we're not mistaken. We can prove it to 
you beyond a doubt. 

ist Jack. All right. Show me your proofs, and if I am 
convinced, I'll tell you what I'll do : I'll share my pie with 
you. 

3D Jack! } A S reed ! 

(ist Jack puts pie on table ; all sit down.) 

ist Jack. Now, go ahead. Who are you ? 

2D Jack. I am known as the Jack whose beanstalk grew as 
never a beanstalk has grown before or since, and who climbed 

to the top of it to find there the home of a fierce giant 

(Children sing or recite behind scenes ; boys listen attentively.) 

Fe, fi, fo, fum ; 

I smell the blood of an Englishman. 

You hear that ! My history has been published far and wide, 
and the least mention of the beanstalk or the giant is sufficient 
to show that I am known and appreciated by children of all 
ages in all parts of the world. Do you ask more ? 

ist Jack. Nothing more. I accept your proof. And now 
(to 3D Jack), what have you to say ? 

3D Jack. I am the Jack who, going up a hill one day with 
his sister to get some water, met with a serious accident. 
(Children sing or recite behind scenes ; boys listen.) 

Jack and Jill went up the hill, 

To get a pail of water ; 
Jack fell down and broke his crown, 

And Jill came tumbling after. 

Do you hear that? My gallant and heroic deeds are cele- 
brated in every land, and the verses written in my honor have 
been known and loved by generations of children the world 
around. What further proof of my greatness do you need ? 

ist Jack. None; none whatever. You have both proved 
your claims beyond the shadow of a doubt. I acknowledge 
you as my equals in name and fame. Let us shake hands on 
it. (Shakes hands with each.) Now I am ready to fulfil my 
promise. (Takes out knife, cuts pie i?i thirds and gives piece 
to each. The pie may be cut beforehand.) Good friends and 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 5 1 

comrades, let me share with you my pie — the Christmas pie 
that never grows old. 

{Each . holds piece of pie ready to take a bite ; different 
voices si?ig or recite behind scenes, all at same time : 
1 ' Little Jack Homer /" " Fe> fi, fo, fum> ' ' twice over ; 
and "Jack and JUL") 



CURTAIN 



Answer — A Charade 



Characters : 

Dennis O'Hara. 
Katie O'Neill. 



SCENE I. — Ann. Discovered — Katie O'Neill, in nurse- 
maid's cap and apron, seated by table darning a child's 
stockings. 

Katie {putting her hand into a stocking). Mercy on me ! 
What a terrible hole ! Sure, I never saw the like o' that 
Tommy to wear holes in his stockings. I'll not get them done 
to-night if I don't hurry. {Knock is heard.') Oh, who's that, 
I wonder ! Most likely it's that crazy Dennis O'Hara botherin' 
round again. 

{Arranges hair before mirror. Knock is repeated softly. 
Katie goes to door.) 

Enter Dennis O'Hara. 

Den. Good-avenin', Katie. 

Katie. Mercy on me, Dennis ! How ye scared me ! 

Den. Scared ye, is it ? Sure, I never meant to do that. 
Are ye alone, Katie ? 

Katie. An' what difference does it make to ye whether I'm 
alone or not ? 

Den. Well, I'll tell ye, Katie, it makes a great difference, 
because I've got somethin' special to ax ye, an' I don't want 
annybody else to hear. {Sits. ) 

Katie {sitting at some distance from him and taking up 
zvork). Indeed ! {Looks down.) An' what can it be? 

Den. It's a great favor I have to ax of ye, an' 1 hope ye'll 
say yes ; will ye, Katie ? 

Katie. Oh, go on, ye silly boy ! Ye needn't think I'll say 
yes till I know what it is ye' re wanting. 

Den. I'll tell ye, then, it's joost this. Ye know I was a 

52 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 



53 



poor b'y, an* I've not much education. I can't read but a 
little, an' I can't write at all. It's not me own fault, Katie, 
but it's true, more's the pity. An' now I want to ax ye if ye'll 
be so kind as to write a letter for me to a frind o' mine in the 
ould counthry. 

Katie {dropping work suddenly and looking up angrily). 
Write a letter ! Indeed, then I'll not do anything of the kind. 
You can write yer own letters. 

Den. Ah, now, Katie, don't be cross wid me. I wouldn't 
think o' botherin' ye if I could do it mesilf. It's bad not to 
be able to write. I've found that out manny's the time. This 
letter is very important, an', thinkin' it oyer, I says to mesilf, 
There's Katie can write a fine letter ; she'd know joost what to 
say an' how to say it right, an' I don't know annybody else 
that could do it so well. An' that's the truth, Katie, if I do 
say it. 

Katie. Oh, be still with your foolishness ! Ye must have 
kissed the Blarney stone the last thing before ye come over, 
didn't ye, now? 

Den. No, not the last thing, but pretty near it. I'll not 
be tellin' ye what was the very last. But sure, it's the truth 
I'm tellin' ye now; an' ye'll be willin' to write the letter for 
me, won't ye, Katie? 

Katie. Oh, I s'pose so, just to get rid of ye, if nothin' else. 
Wait till I get some paper. [Exit. 

Den. I knew I could coax her to do it if I only got on the 
right side of her. Katie's a good little girl, but ye have to 
handle her careful like. I'm wonderin' what she'll say when I 
tell her who the letter is for. 

Enter Katie. Seats herself at table with writing materials. 
Den. draws up to table. 

Katie. Well, go on with yer letter. Who's it for? 

Den. It's the dearest little frind I've got in all Ireland, 
an' her name is Ann McGonigle. 

Katie. Ann ! 

Den. Sure, Ann. Is annything the matter wid it? 

Katie. N-no, but I s'posed it was a man. 

Den. A man ! Did ye, now, really? Well, an' what do 
ye care whether it's a man or a woman ? 

Katie. Oh, of course, I don't care. Ye can write to who- 
ever ye like ; it makes no difference to me. 



54 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Den. Well, then, go on wid yer letter. I want ye to 
begin, "Me darlin' Ann." Have ye got that ? 
Katie (writing). Yes. 

{The letter should be written on the paper beforehand.') 

Den. Tell her I'm thinkin' of her day an' night, an' 
Ion gin' to see her sweet face. {Pauses at intervals while 
Katie writes.) I'm doin' well an* savin' money, an' will she 
come over in the spring an' marry me, an' we'll have a nice 
little home an' a cow an' a pig, an' be as happy as the day is 
long. An' tell her to write soon, because I'll be waitin' an' 
lookin' for a letter. An' I'm her lovin' Dennis. Have ye got 
all that ? 

Katie. Yes. 

Den. An' now will ye let me hear ye read it ? 

Katie {reading). "My darling Ann : — I'm thinking of you 
always, by day and by night, and longing to see your sweet 
face. I'm doing well here in America and saving up money. 
Will you come over in the spring and marry me? We'll have 
a nice little home, and a cow and a pig, and we'll be as happy 
as the day is long. Be sure and write soon, dearest, for I'll be 
waiting and looking for a letter every day. Always your lov- 
ing Dennis." 

Den. That sounds fine ! I knew ye'd do it right. Ye're 
a good girl, Katie, dear, an' I'm much obliged to ye. She 
can't help sayin' yes to that; don't ye think so, Katie ? 

Katie. I'm sure I know nothing about it, an' I care less. 

Den. Ah, don't be cross, Katie, dear. An' now will ye be 
writin' the address on the outside? It's Miss Ann McGonigle, 
Bandon, County Cork, Ireland. 

(Katie writes and tosses envelope toward him.) 

Katie. There ! Take yer old letter an' go on with ye ! 
Den. Thank ye, Katie. Ye're a good girl, an' I'll not for- 
get ye. Good-night. 

(Den. rises and holds out his hand. Katie puts hers be- 
hind her.) 

Katie. Oh, yes, ye'll forget me easy enough when Ann 
McGonigle comes over from Ireland. 

Den. An' ye'll not shake hands, Katie, an' wish me good 
luck? I'm sorry, then. Good-night, 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 55 

{Bows and turns away.} 

Katie. Good-night. {Exit Den. Katie sits down at 
table and puts face in her hands?) Oh, it was mean of him, 
mean, to make me do a thing like that ! Why didn't he get 
somebody else to write his letter to Ann McGonigle ? 

CURTAIN 



SCENE II.— Sir. Discovered — Katie ironing a child's 
dress. Several already ironed hanging on frame or line. 

Katie. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, an 1 this 
makes eight. No wonder I have to iron in the evenin'. I'm 
wonderin' what's the reason Dennis has never heard yet from 
Ann McGonigle. It's a month to-day since I wrote his letter. 
I s'pose he's been lyin' awake nights thinkin' about it. 
{Knock is heard.) Come in. (Enter Den.) Oh! Is it 
you, Dennis ? 

Den. Yes, it's me. What ! Ironin', are ye, at this time 
o' day? 

Katie. Yes. Eight dresses for Tommy this week, — one 
every day an' two for Sunday. 

Den. Sure, he ought not to need the half o' them. Wan 
for the wake days an' wan for the Sunday's enough for anny 
one. But say, Katie, I'm wonderin' why I'm not hearin' a 
word from Ann. It must be a month, sure, since ye wrote the 
letter; don't ye think so? 

Katie. It may be, an' it may not. Do ye s'pose I'm 
keepin' count o' the days ? I'm leavin' that for you. It 
makes no difference to me. 

Den. But I ought to hear from her before now. I'm sure 
she'd write immejiately. I'm thinkin' she's never got the 
letter. 

Katie. Well, sir, ye needn't be askin' me to write again, 
for I'll never do it, mind ye, never in the world. 

Den. I'm not thinkin' of askin' ye annything o' the kind, 
Katie, an' I'll tell ye why. Since ye wrote that letter I've 
changed me mind. 

Katie. What ! 

Den. I've changed me mind, that's what I say. It's not 
Ann McGonigle that I want at all; d'ye see? 



56 SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 

Katie. Well, Dennis O'Hara, ye must be a fool, an' that's 
the truth. Don't ye know yer own mind for a week at a time? 

Den. Now, don't be too hard on a fellow, Katie. Indade, 
an' how could I help it? Ann is a swate little girl 3 I'll not 
be sayin' annything against her; but she can't hold a candle 
to the one I'm dramin' about now. Let me tell ye, this one is 
the finest girl in Ameriky, an' the handsomest. . But, d'ye 
know, Katie, I've not the courage to ax her, for I'm fearin' she 
might say no. 

Katie. An' she will if she has any sense at all. 

Den. I'm thinkin' ye're right; but Katie, dear, wouldn't 
ye like to know who it is ? 

Katie. No, sir; I wouldn't. What do ye s'pose I care if 
ye have a new girl every day in the week, so long as ye're not 
botherin' me? 

Den. But that's joost it, Katie, dear, I must be botherin' 
ye 

Katie. Ye needn't " dear " me ! An' ye needn't be askin' 
me to write to her, for I'll not do it, sir, so there ! 

Den. I'm not axin' ye to do it. I'm goin' to tell her 
mesilf, if she'll only listen. She's not far off at the prisent 
time, an' her name is Katie O'Neill. 

Katie {setting dow?i her flat- ir on with a thud). Sir ! Ye 
must be crazy ! 

Den. No, Katie, I'm not crazy ; I'm joost comin' to me 
sinses. An' I'm not "sir," but joost simple Dennis O'Hara. 

Katie. Yes, I knew that before, an' very simple ye are, in- 
deed ! (Hangs up dress and puts away iron.) 

Den. Ah, sit down a minute, won't ye, an' listen. 

Katie. An' what will I listen to? (Sits down.) 

Den. Sure, I'm tellin' ye that it's you I'm wantin' instead 
of Ann McGonigle, an' I'm sayin' to ye now joost what ye 
wrote in the letter to her, only I'm puttin' it Katie instead of 
Ann. 

Katie (rising). Well, then, ye needn't be tellin' me any- 
thing o' the kind, for I'll not hear it. Do ye think I'll have 
anything to do with a man that asks a girl to marry him an' 
then asks another before the first one has a chance to say no ? 
Ye can get right out of here, sir, an' ye needn't show yer face 
again till ye've got an answer to that letter, yes or no. 

{Chases Den. out ivith broom.) 
CURTAIN 



SCHOOL DIALOGUES AND ENTERTAINMENTS 57 

SCENE III. — Answer. Discovered — Katie sewing on an 
apron for herself, 

Katie. Well, I s'pose Dennis* 11 not be comin' to-night, an' 
maybe never. If he'd only known what he wanted in the first 
place, before he asked me to write to Ann, why, then — maybe 

— it would have made a difference ; but now ( Wipes her 

eyes. Knock is heard. Wipes more vigorously .) Come in. 

Enter Den. smiling. 

Den. Good-avenin', Katie. 

Katie {rising). An' is it you again, Dennis O'Hara? 
Didn't I tell ye not to come again till ye'd got an answer to 
yer letter? 

Den. True; ye did that; but listen to me, Katie. There's 
been no answer, an', what's more, there never will be anny. 

Katie. What do ye mean ? 

Den. I mane what I say. There'll never be anny answer, 
because the letter was niver sint. I've been carryin' it in me 
pocket all this time, an' here it is. 

{Throws letter on table. Katie looks at it without touch- 
ingit.) 

Katie {scornfully). Well, Dennis, I'm thinkin' ye're a fool 
now, for sure. 

Den. Is that what ye're thinkin', Katie? Wait a minute, 
then, till I tell ye somethin'. There's no such girl, to me own 
knowledge, as Ann McGonigle. I only joost made up that 
story to see what ye'd say. 

Katie. Dennis O'Hara ! Ye ought to be ashamed o' 
yerself ! 

Den. {hanging his head). An' I am that, Katie. 

Katie. Sure, an' ye look it. 

Den. But, Katie, darlin', if I say to ye now what ye wrote 
to Ann, what'll be yer answer ? 

Katie {coquettishly). Sure, it's so long ago, I'm forgettin' 
what it was that I wrote. Ye'll have to tell me again, Dennis. 

Den. Ah, yes, Katie, darlin', I'll tell ye now. 

(Katie stands with hands clasped, eyes downcast as he ap- 
proaches.) 

CURTAIN 



Part II 
School Entertainments 



The World's Work 



A Dramatic Allegory 



By HOWARD W. DICKINSON 

Presented first at Smith Academy, Hatfield, Mass., Feb. 6, 1902. 



The World's Work 



CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES 



A Young Man, 
Magician, 

Genius of Politics, . 
Genius of Invention, 
Genius of Trade, 
Genius of Charity, 
Genius of Fine Arts, 
Genius of Every Day Life, 



Modern Evening Dress. 

Long white wig, black gown tied at 

waist with cord, black skull cap. 

Legal wig and gown. 

Roman toga. 

Roman toga. 

Grecian gown, white. 

Grecian gown, light blue. 

Grecian gown, pink. 



NOTE. 

Scenery is not required for this entertainment. The stage or 
platform, draped and decorated as described below, should 
provide a small raised platform, with sliding curtains, at back 
for the tableaux. On one side of it may be placed bookshelves 
with books ; on the other a table bearing scientific apparatus, 
or something of the sort. A stool down r. A stand with 
lamp, incense and magic crystal down l. 




Copyright, 1902, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 



The World's Work 



SCENE. — Magician's apartments. Stage in black ivith gilt 
emblems representing light. Sun, moon, stars, lamps, 
torches, lightning, etc. 

(Magician discovered seated on stool reading from antique 
looking folio.) 

Magician. " The secret of life." So plain it is that any 
may see it, and yet how many there be who search the four 
corners of the earth in vain for that which is all the time 
before their eyes. I have delved deep into the mysteries of an- 
cient lore, of science, and of philosophy and every search has 
brought me back to the simple truth that any man may know. 
(Knock. ) But hark I Some one would enter. Welcome 1 
who ever thou art. (Enter Young Man, r. 2 e.) Peace be 
with thee and thine. What wouldst thou with me ? 

Young Man. Sir, I have heard that thou art possessed 
of wisdom far beyond other men, so I have come to thee for 
counsel. To me it seems that everything worth doing has al- 
ready been done. The great problems of science have been 
solved. Art and literature are crowded with men of medium 
ability. Perhaps there may be now and then a genius, but 
they have no chance, for so well has the work of the past been 
done that none can equal it now. So it is with all professions. 
The World's work is being done so well, there are so many 
more workers than tasks, one man is so small a part of the 
world that it seems as if effort were hardly worth while. 
Venerable sir, I am in earnest. If thou canst show me aught 
worth doing I shall try to do it, and for thy pains and thine 
accumulated wisdom, I would give thee of my gold.) Offers 
purse.) 

Magician (pushes it aside). Young man, thou art young, 

• 63 



64 THE WORLDS WORK 

very young, — and impatient. Put up thy gold. Truth may 
be wooed long in vain — but it is not to be bought with gold. I 
pardon thee thy ignorance else would I turn thee and thy gold 
from my door. Such as I have I give freely. Thou canst 
well see what has been done in the world, but because thou 
canst not see into the storehouse of the future thou thinkest it 
must be empty. Which is more beautiful and useful, the 
foundation of massive stone or the temple above it with its 
domes and spires, its buttresses and cornices, its altar and grand 
organ? Because thou canst not see the temple when the 
foundation is laid, wilt thou say that none can be built? 
Great has been the work of the past. In that thou seest 
aright, but only the foundations of the world's development 
have been laid. The grand superstructure is yet to come. 
Now we dwell in the cellar of this grand edifice and because 
the cellar is warm and dry we do not miss the beauty and 
comfort of the structure above. Could I show thee the plans 
of the Almighty Architect thou wouldst see how this earth shall 
become a worthy temple to the Most High and a fit dwelling- 
place for him whom he has created a little lower than the angels. 
I have discovered a secret by which I may bring into visible 
form the spirits that pervade the earth. From them thou may- 
est learn much that will guide thee on life's way. Remain 
thou very quiet and intent upon what is to be done, for the 
spell is a difficult one to perform. {Lights incense lamp l. 
Goes to table up l., business with apparatus, lights alcohol 
lamp on table, business with crystal, etc.) First thou mavest 
behold the Genius of Politics. {Throws flash powdet upon 
alcohol lamp. Repeats same business as each spirit is intro- 
duced. Enter Politics r. 2 e., not too soon.) Hail ! Mighty 
Spirit. This youth hath said that all the world's great deeds 
have been done. Canst show him aught to do in politics ? 

Politics (a). Through me are the nations of the world 
governed. Long and bitter has been the struggle between the 
rights of man and the rights of Kings. The Republic has 
been evolved from this strife, and its keystone is equal rights. 
But even under a republic there are much corruption and in- 
justice. Many political leaders are men of evil morals. Often 
our cities and states are ruled by an oligarchy of plunderers. 
Bribery and spoils are rife. Good laws are not enforced. Is 
there no opportunity here ? Does not your nation need you ? 
Honest, working politicians were never in greater demand, at 
the caucus, on the stump, at the polls and in the seats of au- 



THE WORLD'S WORK 65 

thority. Has the world reached the summit of good govern- 
ment ? Honest men are wanted, wise men are wanted. New 
questions of policy are continually arising. If thou and such 
as thou will have naught to do with politics, who shall grapple 
with the problems presented by agitators and reformers, by 
socialism, monopoly, intemperance, anarchy, race antagonisms, 
foreign relations and commerce ? Statesmen are noted because 
they are so rare, but government by the people will never ap- 
proach the mark set for it until all the voters are statesmen, in 
honest intent at least, if not in wisdom. Lend a hand, Young 
Man, bear thy part, educate thyself in clean politics and with 
thy voice, pen, and influence help to educate thy fellow-voters. 
Show thyself honest and efficient and thou mayest be called 
upon for some public service of honor. 

Young Man. Noble Spirit, I see as never before the duty 
and opportunity of an honest citizen. 

Magician. And if thou wouldst see more, behold the Spirit 
of Invention. 

(Politics takes position at u Enter Invention, r. 2 e., 
after business as before with flash powder, etc.) 

Invention. Young Man, by thy looks I see that thou 
doubtest my power. Because the world has been astonished at 
the Kathode Ray, Wireless Telegraphy, and the other great dis- 
coveries of yesterday, dost think that all my secrets are laid 
bare? Sixty miles an hour is the traveler's boast. That 
seems indeed fast when we remember the stage coach days of 
old, but what think ye of one hundred, one hundred and fifty, 
yea even two hundred miles an hour in safety and comfort ? 
Food is abundant, thou thinkest, yet famine is rife, and at best 
the wheat must be sown, cared for and harvested, the grain 
sent to mill, the flour distributed, and the baker's art applied 
before thou canst eat. What thinkest thou of bread made 
directly by chemical process without waiting for the tardy 
action of sun and rain upon the soil ? Fuel is plentiful for those 
who can buy, yet the forest trees are not as abundant as they 
were, coal mines are being exhausted, and even should they be 
exhaustless, vast labor must be expended ere man may use 
Nature's stores of combustibles. Why not gather the Sun's waste 
energy of summer and store it away to warm thy house in win- 
ter, or that thou mayest journey into lands of ice and snow in 
ease and comfort ? Thou mayest even now converse across a 



66 THE WORLDS WORK 

continent, why mayest thou not behold the countenance of thy 
friend a thousand leagues away? Man uses many of Nature's 
forces but everywhere is waste — waste — waste. A ton of coal 
must be used to furnish power which an hundredweight ought 
to give. If no new force or appliance should ever be found 
there would still be enough to keep inventors at work for cen- 
turies improving and perfecting those now in use. The tele- 
scope does great things but at a certain point it stops and 
baffles the astronomer who would look closer. Minute as are 
things the microscope shows us there are smaller still which we 
may not see. And that mysterious force electricity. What is 
it? (Young Man shakes his head?) Thou knowest not? 
Then find out and thou mayest increase many fold the uses to 

which it may be put. And chemistry (Young Man 

puts out hand to stop him.') 

Young Man. Enough. Thou hast already shown me that 
the age of invention is yet in its childhood, — but these secrets, 
tell me of them. How may they be learned ? 

Invention. By work, Young Man — Science is a jealous 
mistress and one who would win her smiles must be her serv- 
ant night and day. Thou canst not be an idler and a dis- 
coverer. 

(Invention goes to r.) 

Magician. Art convinced ? or wouldst thou see more? 
Young Man. I am convinced and yet I would see more. 

{Business with flash power as before.) 

Magician. Then behold the Genius of Charity. 

Enter Charity. 

Charity. Ancient wise man, why am I called hither? 

Magician. To show this youth how the world needs the 
quickening of thy divine spirit. 

Charity. Walk with me in imagination as in a gallery and 
behold the pictures there. They may not be alluring to thine 
eye but they are true and as thou movest along life's highways, 
thou mayest see them often. Behold. {Tableau I. — Poor 
woman and child in rags in snowstorm. Tableaux exposed 
about one and a half minutes.) "Distress" is the name of 
that picture. Hunger, cold and misery still dwell in the 



THE WORLD'S WORK 67 

world, still visit the homes of men, still punish innocent women 
and children. Brave men and women are trying to relieve 
them, but as yet they are striving to dam an ocean with hand- 
fuls of sand. As in this picture so is the life of thousands of 
thy fellow-creatures. Art thou doing anything for them? 
Behold another of life's pictures. {Tableau II. — A man about 
to stab another.*) This is " Crime." The man about to kill 
his brother is a murderer. His nature is degenerate, his pas- 
sions are base and yet he is thy human brother. Hast thou 
striven to assuage his unholy temper and tried to guide his feet 
into paths of industry and peace, or hast thou passed him by 
on the other side and said: " He is not like me and I will 
have naught to do with him"? Hast thou no duty towards 
thine erring brother as well as towards thy congenial friend ? 
But another picture thou must see. Behold. (Tableau III 
— A drunken man.) The name of this is " Vice." 

Young Man. But, Noble Spirit, this man has sold his man- 
hood for lustful pleasures, and by his own act has put himself 
where I may not go to help him. 

Charity. Yea. So sayest thou, and so say many like 
thee. But, Young Man, heed this : that wretch, that sot, that 
bestial man, that outcast whom thou loathest, but for the grace 
of God might be none other than thee thyself. Sayest thou 
then, that thou art not thy brother's keeper? But we must 
hasten on and view yet another picture. Again behold. 
{Tableau IV. — Man seated at table, head on his arms, as if in 
deep despondency.) " Misfortune " we call this scene. This 
man has battled bravely against the ills of life but sorrow and 
disease have done their work upon him. Death has taken 
away his nearest kin. Sickness has kept him from his daily 
work and now poverty and discouragement are his companions. 
Thy veins are warm with rich young blood. Bethink thee 
how some of thy strength might straighten that bent frame, 
how some of that sympathy so easy to bestow, and which en- 
riches the giver even more than him whom receives, how it 
might encourage this man under misfortune to a renewed faith 
in God and man, — how it might enable him to go into life's 
struggle on the morrow with courage born of the fact that some 
one has taken an interest in him. Many more pictures I might 
show but these must suffice. While such things are in the 
world never say that thou hast naught to do. 

Magician. And thou wouldst know more, behold the Genius 
of Trade. 



68 the world's work 

Enter Trade. 

Trade. Brief and to the point am I. What wouldst thou 
with me? 

Young Man. I would know what thou hast in store for the 
young man of these times. Shall not thy devotees be lost 
among those myriads who sacrifice their lives in a vain pursuit 
after that winged creature, wealth ? 

Trade. Yes, perchance. If thou art a man with little in- 
dustry and ambition, for without these qualities my devotees 
must surely fail. Economy, centralization, concentration, 
these are the main ideas of business now. Trusts and 
monopolies are the first efforts in that direction. The business 
ideal of the future is a co-operation which shall not destroy in- 
dividual action, for without that the world of business must 
collapse. The world teems with business chances, but only 
the trained eye can see them, only the quick hand can grasp 
them. If thou wouldst get gold, do so, but use it too. The 
selfish rich man encumbers the earth, but he who from his 
honest gain gives to men happiness, learning, or relief, is as 
great as he who founds a state. 

Young Man. Bold Spirit I thank thee, thou hast taught 
me much ; and kindly sage wilt thou show me still more? 

Magician. Behold the Genius of Fine Arts. 

Enter Fine Arts. 

Fine Arts. Thou hast said in thy mind, Young Man, that 
Shakespeare is dead, that Raphael is a memory of the past, that 
Beethoven's surpassing genius sleeps with him. Thinkest thou 
that Fine Art is only a Memory ? Never was it more alive. 
All these masters have portrayed the spirit of other times. Who 
shall show forth the spirit of the times to come ? Who shall 
put upon canvas or into words the deeds, the ambitions, the 
longings of the heroes of the Twentieth Century ? Perchance 
among the rubbish that covers thine own best soul there may 
be the divine mark of genius, or if thou be no genius, per- 
chance thou mayest have talents, which thou hast hidden in 
the napkin of idleness against the day of thy Master's return. 
Hast thou a poetical idea ? Show it to the world even if thou 
canst not clothe it in the words of a Milton. Hast thou a 
melody within thee ? Bring it forth in note even though it be 
not as the heaven born conceptions of Handel. Knowest thou 
a story of man's love or struggles, — let it see light, even though 



THE WORLD'S WORK 69 

thou be no Thackeray. To succeed in Fine Art means effort, 
patient unceasing and often disappointing. Thou canst not 
become a marksman in any of life's tournaments until thou hast 
taken many an aim in trial. Thou seest the workers and 
thinkest them too numerous, but the magnificent harvest be- 
fore them is hidden from thy view. Never was there a louder 
call for master workmen, never so great a need for patient 
plodders. Fine Art offers thee fame, popularity and a com- 
petence, but only in exchange for thy soul's best effort. And 
the good thou mayest do ! to cheer the despondent with sooth- 
ing verse, to awaken to love and duty by delicious harmony of 
sound, to copy the transient beauties of Nature's moods and 
fix them on enduring canvas. Is not success in these things 
well worth the struggle that must be made to attain it ? 

(Young Man appears to grow a little tired.} 

Magician. Gentle Youth, thou art growing weary and well 
thou mightest, but before thy departure I shall show thee one 
spirit more, one whose gentle modesty may make her some- 
times seem of small account, the gentle spirit of Every Day 
Life. 

Enter Every Day Life. 

Every Day Life. Many great deeds can I do, but more 
still can I accomplish through a multitude of little things. I 
bring happiness and content to all who will follow me wisely. 
Think of that, Young Man. What better prize in life canst 
thou draw than happiness and content ? Live each day with 
the supreme energy of thy nature. Spoil not thy happiness 
with petty faults. Bad temper will bring misery to thee and 
discomfort to thy friends. Fault-finding is easy because thy 
brethren are frail and mortal like thyself, but have thou none of 
it for it will ruin thy content. Sloth thrives upon idleness and 
will destroy thy power of mind and body. Cowardice will 
drag down thy heels when thou mightest make a brave leap for 
glory. Know thyself, trust thyself, work, be kindly, look not 
for great rewards and thou mayest be happy. Despise not lit- 
tle deeds for their total may be great. Look upon the world 
from an eye jaundiced by discontent and it seemeth a loath- 
some spot, teeming with misery, cruelty, and all things vile, — 
thy fellow-man a creature weak and full of evil passions, but 
look upon this thy terrestrial dwelling place with the eye of 



70 THE WORLD S WORK 

Faith and Love and it shall be to thee a garden fair where thou 
mayest pluck delicious fruit, and thy brethren shall be chil- 
dren of thine own Heavenly Father. Kindness, love and 
sympathy shall well up for thee a perpetual spring. Thou shalt 
be better for living and the world shall be better that thou hast 
lived. 

Young Man. Wise man, I thank thee and these kindly 
spirits ; I am resolved to go into some work with energy. But 
with so much to do — whither shall 1 turn ? I do not any longer 
question what can be done, but what shall I choose, how shall 
I be directed, — what shall be my guide ? 

Magician. I will show thee a guide. Behold. [Tableau 
for a minute at the back of the stage ; little girl in white 
holding a cross erect in one hand and an Easter lily in the 
other. During tableau.} Follow thou that and forget thy- 
self for thy fellow-men and thy success in life is assured. It 
may not be measured by dollars or by fame but it will be none 
the less real and lasting. {Tableau Curtain. Young Man 
returns to his chair, sinks into it as if tired. Magician slips 
back of him and makes passes over his head during the rest 
of his speech as if to put him to sleepy And now, gentle youth, 
thou must be weary, thou hast conversed with celestial spirits, 
and such things exhaust weak mortals. So rest thyself — sleep ! 
— sleep ! — sleep ! 

(Young Man sleeps. Spirits in turn take a step or two 
towards him, and each one after his short speech, while the 
next one is speaking, glides softly and slowly from the 
stage by nearest entrance. Towards the end lights are 
made a little more dim.) 

Politics. Rest. Be strong, fair youth, for all my battles 
must be fought by such as thou. [Exit. 

Invention. Rest, Young America, and clear thy brain for 
the problems which I shall give thee to solve. [Exit. 

Charity. May peace dwell with thee, and may thy soul 
overflow with love for thy fellows. [Exit. 

Trade. 'Tis such as thou must rescue me from tricksters 
and frauds. [Exit. 

Fine Arts. May thy sleep be filled with dreams of the 
beautiful and pure. [Exit. 

Every Day Life. Rest thy weary body and tired brain. 
Gain strength for thine every need on the morrow. [Exit. 



THE WORLDS WORK 71 

Magician (stage nearly dark). Rest on. Thou hast been 
privileged beyond most of thy fellow-men. I hope that thou 
hast found the secret of life. May this not be in vain, but 
mayest thou live to be an honor to thyself, thy country, and 
the world. I'll leave thee to awake alone. Farewell. [Exit. 

(Stage darkened slowly ; slow curtain.) 



Half an Hour with a Giant 



& $olto ©prrctta for Cijiforcn 



ADAPTED TO FAMILIAR AXD POPULAR AIRS 



BY 

GERTRUDE MANLY JONES 



CHARACTERS. 

THE GIANT. 

THE GIANT'S SLAVES. 

BOYS AND GIRLS. In almost any number desired. 

The dialogue for the Boys and Girls to be apportioned among three or 
any larger number of the children, at the discretion of the manager. 




Copyright, 1892, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 



NOTE. 

To make the Giant : — Seat one boy astride the neck and shoulders of another, 
the boy beneath holding firmly against his chest the legs of the boy above ; let 
the draperies hang from the upper figure to the floor, hiding the figure beneath. A 
sombrero with plumes, and a large knife, complete the costume. 



MUSIC. 

All the airs used in this Operetta may be found in the " Multum in Parvo 
Songster," to be obtained of the publishers at 30 cents a copy, postpaid, by mail. 



HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 



Scene I. — /;/ the ivoods. Children pulling evergreens ; others 
enter and begin dialogue. 

Boy. Alack, alas ! 'tis true I fear. 

Girl. What's true? why anxious faces wear? 

Boy. Why simply this ; our comrades say 

W 7 e've missed the trail, and lost our way. 

{Enter others?) 
Another Boy. 

We'd just as well give up and rest ; 

We've hunted east, we've hunted west, 

But found no trace of man's abode, 

Or glimpse of hidden path or road. 
Boy. Too bad ! 
Girl. How sad ! 

Boy. What childish folly, 

To lose ourselves in hunting holly. 
Girl. One holiday bunch of mistletoe 

To cause us all this fright and woe ! 
Boy. We've loitered till the sun is down, 

And we, perchance, are miles from town. 
Another Boy. 

The luncheon's gone, too, every bite, 

And we're so hungry ! what a plight ! 

To think a day so well begun 

With laughter, frolicking, and fun, 

Should have so woful drear an ending ! 
Boy. It's quite too bad ! 

Girl, It's just heartrending ! 

75 



7 6 



HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 

(Boys withdraw?) 
Girl. And see, it rapidly grows dark ; 

Alone in the deep wood we — oh, hark ! 
What rustles in the bushes there ! 
Oh, what if it should be a bear ! 

(Girls scream and huddle together, and sing to the air of) 
" Poor Old Maids." 

Such a frightened, timid band, 

Poor little maids ! 
Holding each the other's hand, 

Poor little maids! 
Out in the deep woods alone, 
Daring not a step to roam, 
Wishing we were safe at home, 

Poor little maids ! 

Oh, the gloom that darkness brings ! 

Poor little maids ! 
Afraid of bears and snakes and things, 

Poor little maids ! 
Such a nameless horrid dread 
Creeps into each heart and head. 
Oh, that we were safe in bed ! 

Poor little maids ! 

(Boys enter, and sing to the air of " Over there.") 

We've discovered a dim light, 

Over there ; 
Such a cheery, welcome sight, 

Over there. 
To the place we'll quickly go, 
Ask for shelter, tell our woe ; 
And they'll surely not say " no," 

Over there. 
So we'll find a place to stay, 

Over there. 
'Till another dawn of day, 

Over there. 
With a welcome, full and free, 
With a bed and cup of tea, 
Oh ! how lucky we shall be, 

Over there. 

{Chorus to air of " Coming through the Rye.") 

You'll never find a day so dark, 
Nor yet so drear a nook, 
But you may see a golden beam 
Of comfort, If you look, 



HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 77 

Then cheer up, laddies, 

Cheer up, lassies ; 

Then cheer up, laddies, 

Cheer up, lassies, 

Hasten, and away ; 

You'll always find a lining bright 

Above each cloud of gray. 

(Exeunt all, or curtain.) 

Scene II. — Giant's home in the forest. Enter children, 
peering cautiously about. 

Boy. Hello, hello ! an odd place, though ! 

The inmates here do surely roam. 

No lock or bar, the door ajar, 

Yet no one seems to be at home. 
Girl. Hello, hello ! things look so queer! 

I almost wish we were not here ! 
Boy. See that great chair against the wall ! 
Another. 

And this big table, square and tall ! 
Girl. And mercy on us, what a bed ! 
Another. 

And what a pillow at the head ! 
Boy. And here's a fire ; and here — Oh, joy ! — 

Is bread enough for girl and boy ! 

It is not ours, that's very true ; 

Yet, let me think what we should do : 

If the kind host had not gone out, 

He'd make us welcome, without doubt, 

And bid us eat, and take our fill. 

(Children exclaim in concert?) 
All. Why, then we will ! of course we will. 

(All fall to eating voraciously, and sing to air of) 
M Captain with His Whiskers." 

When at home on the cupboard 

We make a daily raid, 
Our bread it must be covered thick 

With jam or marmalade ; 



78 HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 

Or with golden brown sugar, 

With a pinch of cinnamon, 
Our dainty little appetites 

Must warily be won ; 
But when we get real hungry, 

When we're famished and half dead. 
We are very glad to get 

Almost any sort of bread. 
And we eat it and love it, 

And say it is first rate ; 
Whether hot, or cold, or stale, 

We are glad to take it — straight. 

(Spoken?) 
Boy. Hush ! A step ! A heavy tread ! 

Somehow it fills my heart with dread ! 

Unbidden guest, to feast and jest ! 
Another. 

It was not right ! 
Girl. 'Twas impolite ! 

Boy. Alas, ah me ! Now do I see 

How hasty and how wrong are we ! 

(Enter Giant ; sings to the air of " Dost Thou love Me, 
Sister Ruth ? ") 

Who does dare to enter here ? 

Say, say, say, 
With a noisy jest and jeer ; 

Yea, yea, yea ! 
Who are these that dare to brave 

My displeasure fierce ? 
Knowest thou not the Giant's knife 
All offenders pierce ? 

What a feast I'll have to-night! 

Yea, yea, yea ! 
Won't you be a dainty bite? 

Say, say, say ! * 

I will whet my teeth and dine 

In a sumptuous way ! 
When you're cooked you will be fine ; 
Hey down, ho down hey ! 

(Solo and chorus to the air of " Eureka.") 

Girl. O dear Mr. Giant, don't eat us I pray ! 

We're sorry, indeed, we've been bad. 
While strolling the forest we all lost our way, 
And came to your castle so glad \ 



HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 79 

For we thought we had found a good friend in our need, 

With shelter and food for the night ; 
But now we are wretched, unhappy, indeed, 

Since we're to be eaten up quite ! 

{Chorus?) 

All. Forgive us, forgive us, and heed our deep sorrow': 

And let us go home to our friends on the morrow ; 

Remember our youth ; 

That we're speaking the truth, 
And spare us, dear Giant, I pray. 

Girl. O good Mr. Giant, our mothers so dear, 

Do anxiously 'wait our return ; 
Just think of their sorrow, their grief, and their fear, 

When our unhappy fate they shall learn ! 
We're sorry we meddled, or handled a thing ; 

We're sorry we ate up your bread ; 
Contrition and penitence humbly we bring ; 

Oh, please, we don't want to be — dead ! 

{Chorus as above?) 
Giant (speaks). 

So hark ye ! Hist ! 

I have a list 

Of virtues mild, 

Which I admire in every child. 

You boast of youth ; 

Of speaking truth. 

That list I'll read ; 

If at its close you're all agreed 

That you can claim 

The gifts I name, 

Which in that document are writ, 

I'll set you free ; 

Pardoned you'll be ; 

My house in safety you shall quit. 

(Giant touches bell, and Slave Giant appears.) 
Giant. Bring me my pocket note-book. 

(Slave disappears, and returns with unabridged dictionary, 
or other large book.) 



go HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 

Giant. Virtues, four ; these and no more. {Reads 
slowly!) Unselfishness, gentleness, promptness, neatness. 

(Children in confusion. Excited dialogue following.) 
Girl. I ate an orange yesterday, 

And would not give one bite to May ! 
Boy. I boss our younger children 'round, 

With manner too commanding! 
Another Boy. 

I sometimes keep the easy-chair, 

And leave my mother standing ! 
Girl. When Tommie bothered me last week, 

I slapped him on his little cheek ! 
Boy. I had a sum I could not do, 

And smashed my new slate square in two. 
Girl. I'm tardy, frequently, at school ! 
Boy. I'm late to breakfast, -as a rule ! 
Girl. My shoe has buttons off the side ! 
Boy. My scarf forever is untied ! 

(Chorus, sadly sung to air of" Maryland, My Maryland.") 

All. Alas, alas, we do deplore, — cruel man, ah, cruel man ! 

We've not a virtue of the four, — cruel man, ah, cruel man ! 
And since our faults can't be o'erlooked, 
Nor yet your haughty spirit brooked, 
We'll say good-by, and then be — cooked ; 
Cruel man , ah cruel man ! 

(All weep and embrace!) 
Giant. Silence, hold ! 
Be ye not bold, 
But listen to me, hasty youth. 
The sweetest virtue yet is truth. 
Not e'en to shield yourselves from death 
Did falsehood vile pollute your breath ; 
And as ye would not, will not, lie, 
Ye neither by my hand shall die. 
These lesser faults you frankly own, 
You'll overcome, ere you are grown ; 



HALF AN HOUR WITH A GIANT. 

For truthfulness and honesty 
The basis of all good must be. 
Behold an escort at the door ; 
They'll guide you to your home once more. 
{Escort of Armed Giants appear^) 

{Chorus to air of" Columbia, Gem of the Ocean. ") 

All. Oh, you've made us so happy and joyful ! 

Our hearts beat so light and so free ; 
Our love and our warmest devotion 
We offer, dear Giant, to thee. 
Thy mandates severe made us tremble, 
When destruction, we thought, stood in view; 
But with freedom and pardon we'll ever 
Sing three cheers for our Giant so true ! 

Three cheers for our Giant so true ! 

Three cheers for our Giant so true ! 

May you live and be happy forever, 

Three cheers for our Giant so true ! 

{Chorus, softly sung to air of" Don't You go, Tommie.") 

All. And now, Giant dear, we bid you adieu, 

This hour in your castle we never will rue : 

For on our young minds and hearts you've impressed, 

That truth, ever truth, is the best. 
We'll try to be better the rest of our days ; 
To mend all our lazy and meddlesome ways ; 
Be prompt at our work as well as our plays : 

And now, dearest Giant, good-by. 

{Refrain.} 

Good-by, old Giant, so kind ; 
Farewell, old Giant, so true ; 

Though now we must sever, 

We'll love you forever. 
Dear Giant, good Giant, adieu. 

{All retire, bowing and kissing fnger-tips.) 
CURTAIN. 



81 



A CARNIVAL OF DAYS 



COMPRISING 



2, May Day ; 2, Memorial Day ; 3, Fourth of July ; 
4, Christmas ; 5, St. Valentine's Day 



By MARY B. HORNE 



NOTE. 

These holidays can be played in any order, but are arranged 
in this way to facilitate change of scene. It is much easier to 
use different children in each day, thus avoiding any change of 
costume during performance. The smaller the children, in 
most cases the better. Cupid should be as tiny a child as can 
play the part. 

MUSIC. 

May Day. — From " The Mikado.' ' 

Memorial Day. — From "War Songs," "Blue and Gray," 
obtainable at any music store. 

Fourth of July. — The same. 

Christmas. — The carols can be found in " The Sunnyside," 
William A. Pond, publisher, New York. 

St. Valentine's Day. — Cupid's song from "Patience ;" the 
dirge, from "The Silver Bell," a school song-book; madri- 
gal, from "The Mikado." 




Copyright, 1887, 
By WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 



MAY DAY. 



CHARACTERS. 

The May Queen. 
Four Maids of Honor. 
Four Pages. 
Eight Little Girls. 



COSTUMES AND MOUNTING. 

The stage mounting may be made very simple by the use of 
evergreens, etc. A pretty wood scene is very effective. The 
throne should be high, approached by two or three steps, thus 
bringing the queen above the chorus. The girls should wear 
white, the "Puritan Maiden" dress or "Kate Greenaway," 
with high sash. Pages in Puritan costume, — steeple-crowned 
hats, high boots, and capes. 



MAY DAY. 

Scene. — A wood. Raised platform at back of stage, with 
throne c. Music as curtain rises. 

(Air. — Entrance of " Mikado.") 

Enter immediately eight little girls marching two by two, 
smallest first, carrying baskets, wreaths, and garlands of 
flowers. March to front ; two little girls pause, next two 
separate and stand R. and l., and so on, thus forming a line 
across the stage* 

85 



86 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS, 

(Air. — " Miya-sama," " Mikado." ) 

All. Welcome, May Day! Welcome, May Day I 

We are ever true to thee. 
Boys may scoff and parents grumble, 
What care we? 
If it snow or it blow, what care we? 

Separate, and form in two lines on sides of stage. Enter 
Queen, followed by Maids of Honor, two in attendance 
and two bearing crown and sceptre. Queen courtesies. 

All. Welcome, May Queen! Welcome, May Queen! 

Here thy faithful subjects see, 
Ready now to serve thy will, and 
Bow to thee. 
Mount the throne, lovely Queen, 'tis for thee. 

<»Jueen ascends throne, assisted by Maids, who then stand r. 
and l. ready to crown her and present sceptre at line, 
" Wear the crown," etc. 

^ll. Hail, then, May Queen! Hail, then, May Queen, 

Ruler of this holiday! 
Wear the crown, and take the sceptre : 
'Tis thy sway. 
Rule us now, lovely Queen, this May Day. 

Maids join the other girls. Enter r. two pages bearing um- 
brella and fur boa or knitted hood. l. two pages with water- 
proof and overshoes. Station themselves r. and l. of Queen. 

(Air. — Continuation of "Mikado" music.) 

Boys. From every kind of ill 

We wish to guard our Queen, 
So here's a good umbrill — 
Queen. Scorned by your beautiful May Queen; 

She cares not for rain : 
The reason is plain, — 
She's the beautiful May Queen. 



MAY DAY. 87 

Boys. Your beauty will be impaired, 

Particularly by slosh. 
Queex. But my principles I've declared. 

And I'll never take your clumsy galosh. 
{To girls) Kneel, kneel to your beautiful Queen o' the May! 
All (kneeling). Kneel, kneel to our beautiful Queen o' the May 
Boys. In a fatherly kind of way 

We offer each one his wrap ; 
Now cheerfully own our sway. 
Queen. Xot while I've fingers left to snap! 
''I'm tough as a bone. 

I've a will of my own," 
And I'll never accept a wrap. (Shivers.' 

Boys. The weather is damp and cold; 

Our desire is but to screen — 
Queex. Your anxiety makes you bold; 

You insult your beautiful May Queen. 

(Boys throw down wraps, etc.) 

Kneel, kneel to your beautiful Queen o' the May; 

(Boys take off hats, kneel, and join chorus.) 

All. Kneel, kneel to our beautiful Queen o' the May. 

(All sneeze.) 

Introduce inarch here, or repeat " Miya-sama." Girls inarch 
to throne in single file, passing each other f. c, and deliver 
flowers to Maids of Honor, who have taken their places R. 
and l. of Queex. Pages go to c. and whisper behind their 
hats. Girls then form groups of four R. and L. 

(Air. — ''Flowers that bloom in the spriyig.") 

Boys. To maidens light-hearted and free, 

Tra-la. {Girls sneeze.) 

The weather no pleasures can cloy; 
So we'll gather beneath the green tree, 

Tra-la, (Girls sneeze.) 



&& A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

We'll join in their innocent glee, 

Tra-la, ( Girls sneeze. ) 

And nothing shall dampen our joy. 
We'll make the swamp ring with our innocent glee, 
We'll wade round the May-pole light-hearted and free, 
Tra-la-la, etc. 

Dance. Each group cross right hands and turn. Left hand 
back. Maids of Honor turn each other. 

Girls. The pleasure we take on May Day, 

Tra-la, {Boys sneeze.) 

Brings trouble enough in its train; 
You'd better look out for the play, 

Tra-la, {Boys sneeze. ) 

That's suited to boys on May Day, 

Tra-la, {Boys sneeze.) 

And go play base-ball in the rain. 
We'll twine our May garlands beneath the green tree, 
While you make a home-run, all dangers to flee, 
Tra-la-la, etc. 

Boys run s. F. and l. f. Girls form in c. All dance. 
Curtain, 



MEMORIAL DAY. 



CHARACTERS. 

Six or more Veterans. 
Twelve Little Girls. 



COSTUMES AND MOUNTING. 

The scenery may be the same as in " May Day," with the 
addition of battle-flags or colors of local post G.A.R. This is 
more effective if real veterans will take part. The men should 
wear the uniform used on Decoration Day, and they must 
carry guns. The girls should be dressed in white, modern 
costumes. 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Scene. — Wood, same as in " May-Day." As curtain rises, a 
hidden chorus sing, with drum in distance, "Battle Hymn 
0} the Republic;" air, "John Brown." 

All. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 
Lord: 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible 
swift sword. 

His truth is marching on. 
Glory, glory, hallelujah! etc. 

89 



go A CAKNIVAL OF DAYS. 

All. I have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred circling 
camps ; 
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews 

and damps; 
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flar- 
ing lamps. 

His day is marching on." 
Glory, glory, hallelujah! etc. 

Immediately after the rising of the curtain, the order " For- 
ward, march ! " is given off the stage, l. Then enter soldiers, 
marching in single file; form in line at back of stage. " Halt ! 
Front! Order arms! Stack arms!" This drill, while 
chorus is singing. They place guns in two stacks. Then 
music changes to dirge. Enter the twelve little girls, bearing 
baskets, wreaths, and garlands of flowers. Form in group 
r. f. and l. f. Men uncover. Girls sing dirge, from i( Silver 
Bell," p. 84. 

Girls. Peace to the brave who nobly fell 

'Neath our flag, their hope and pride; 
They fought like heroes, long and well, 
Then like heroes died. 

Hallowed forever be the graves 

Where our martyrs dreamless sleep. 
Columbia, weep thy fallen braves, 
(Ores.) But triumphant weep. 

Nobly they died in Freedom's name, 

Died our country's flag to save; 
Forever sacred be their fame, 

Green their honored grave. 

Little girl with flowers advances between the stacked arms 
and addresses the soldiers. 



MEMORIAL DAY. 9 1 

ADDRESS. 

■fake from the children 

Garlands of flowers 
Culled from the woods and meads, 

Freshened by showers. 
Let us who never knew 

Aught but the peace-time 
Give thus our tribute to 

Heroes of war-time. 

E'en though our fathers seem 

Oft to forget, 
In the great scheme of life, 

Memory's debt, 
Trust to the children who 

Listen with awe 
Always to honor those 

Deeds of the war. 

Leave to the children through 

Ages unseen 
In their young hearts to keep 

Those mem'ries green. 
Take, then, these flowers, and 

Bear them away : 
They are our tribute to 

Memorial Day. 

Presents flowers to soldiers; the other girls follow. The men 
hang the garlands, etc., upon the stacked arms, then fall 
back into line. Girls group in front of arms. Tableau. 

(Air. — " America") 

All. My country, 'tis of thee, 

Sweet land of liberty, 
Of thee I sing; 



92 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the Pilgrims' pride ;, 
From every mountain side 
Let freedom ring. 

Curtain. 



Note. This scene could be made very effective by having 
half the men in Southern uniform, and enter on r. at the 
same time that the Union men enter L. Form one line, as 
before. 

After the presentation of flowers, all sing. 
(Air. — " The Blue and the Gray.") 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead. 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day, 
Under the one the Blue, 
Under the other the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 

Curtain. 



FOURTH OF JULY. 



CHARACTERS. 

George Washington Jones, Orator. 
Daniel Webster Flynn, Master of Ceremonies. 
Antiques and Horribles. 
George Washington, with hatchet. 
Yankee Doodle, with flag. 
In di an, with banner : " Lo! the poor Indian. 19 
U. S. Soldier, with gun. 
Chinaman, with Chinese banner. 
Negro, with banjo. 
Irishman. 

Cowboy, with banner: " Houp-la." 
German, with banner: Beer-mug and pipe. 
Italian. 
Frenchman. 
Spaniard. 

Drummer-Boy, and chorus of boys and girls, with tin horns, 
torpedoes, etc. 



COSTUMES. 

The orator and master of ceremonies can be gotten up in 
stump-orator style, — tall hats, etc. The antiques and horribles 
should be costumed according to the characters they represent. 
George Washington, Yankee Doodle, very small boys ; others 
may be larger. The drummer-boy in Zouave uniform. 

93 



94 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 



FOURTH OF JULY. 

Scene. — A wood, as before, but a great display of bunting and 
small flags. Chinese lanterns would add to the effect. Plat- 
form at back. Curtain rises to music " Yankee Doodle," with 
piano and fife. Enter Drummer-Boy. Stands upon platform 
and drums. Enter L. : — 

Antiques and Horribles, marching two by two. 

George Washington and Yankee Doodle. 

Indian and Soldier. 

Chinaman and Negro. 

Irishman and Cowboy. 

German and Italian. 

Frenchman and Spaniard. 

March to front, and separate ; stationed R. and l. in such a way 
that each is visible to audience. Music changes to " Hail 
to the Chief! " Enter crowd, running, shouting, and look- 
ing back. Enter Orator with Master of Ceremonies. 
Stands for a moment on platform, while crowd cheer, blow 
horns, fire torpedoes, then comefonoard. 

D. Webster Flynn (speaks). Friends and Fellow-Citi- 
zens, — The distinguished gentleman beside me represents the 
American of to-day. (Cheers.) I need not tell you that he is 
a rising man. (Cheers.) Look at the offices he has held! 
Beginning as a village postmaster, he has filled in succession 
such worthy positions as Alderman and member of the Com- 
mon Council, until at last he has attained the Mayor's chair. 
( Cheers. ) What more do you ask ? Gentlemen, I am proud 
to call this man my friend. (Cheers.) His public career has 
been one of honesty and integrity, and he stands to-day quali- 
fied to be the leading candidate in the Presidential contest of 
1888. (Cheers.) Gentlemen, I present to you the orator of the 
day, the Hon. George Washington Jones. (Renewed cheers.) 

Mr. Jones. Men of America ! (Cheers.) It is with feelings 
akin to emotion that I behold this vast assemblage of natures' 



FOURTH OF JULY. 95 

noblemen (Cheers), and reflect that it comes to do honor to this 
glorious day. (Cheers.) What are we here to celebrate ? ( Cheers, 
torpedoes, horns blown, etc.) We are here to celebrate the 
nation's birthday. (Cheers.) Yes, fellow-citizens, this is the 
anniversary of the birth of our nation ; and, men of America, 
what a nation it is ! Let the old monarchies scoff if they like ; 
but ask them, my friends, ask them, I say, to show us a broader 
land, united under one government. (Cheers.) From the 
blue waters of the Atlantic to the mild waves of the Pacific, 
from the cold regions of the North wind to the South, where 
the balmy zephyrs blow, all that vast land is ours : " One 
flag, one land, one heart, one hand, one nation, evermore ! " 
(Renewed cheers.) And, fellow-citizens, who are these men of 
America ? The framers of our glorious Constitution (George 
Washington and Yankee Doodle bow) proclaimed that 
" all men are created free and equal. " Do we live up to this 
principle ? Behold our oppressed brother from Ireland. (Irish- 
man takes off his hat with left hand, and shows ballot in his 
right.) He lands in New- York City; and, as his foot touches 
the sacred soil, the ballot is placed in his willing hand, and 
forthwith he wields a power mightier than the sword. ( Cheers. ) 
And so, my friends, with other nations. We make no distinc- 
tion. German (German bows), French (Frenchman lifts 
hat), Italian (ditto), Spaniard (ditto), — all (Chinaman toddles 
to front), all are welcome, all — except the Chinese! (Irish- 
man seizes Chinaman, and drags him back to place. ) Then 
behold the children of the republic! (Points to Negro.) It 
is true, we were a little uncertain, for a space of years, as to 
the color of free and equal men ; but when our victorious armies 
(Soldier salutes) settled that question, did we not "break 
the chains of the oppressor, and let the oppressed go free" ? 
(Cheers.) And to-day every black man can cast his vote 
(Negro waves ballot), if he wants to (Cowboy seizes and 
tears it), and nobody stops him. And, men of America, be- 
hold the poor Indian! What have we 'done for him f Ahem! 
We have, ahem! — we have — Well, we haven't done as much 



96 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

as we might have done ; but in the years to come we will do 
more. (Cheers. ) Let us drop personalities, and raise our eyes 
above such petty affairs to that glorious flag on high. 

'Tis the star-spangled banner! 
Oh, long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! 

(Cheer upon cheer, with a general racket.) 

Mr. Flynn. Friends, I propose three cheers for the orator. 
One! (cheers) two! (cheers) three! (cheers.) 
Piano and fife give "Hail Columbia" All sing, with accom- 
paniment of drum, clappers, tin horns, torpedoes, etc., — 

Hail, Columbia, happy land! 
Hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band! 
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, 
Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, 
And when the strife and wars were gone, 
Enjoyed the peace your valor won. 
Let independence be your boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost ; 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altar reach the skies. 
Firm, united let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty; 
As a band of brothers joined, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 

CUBTAItf. 



CHRISTMAS. 



CHARACTERS. 

The Grandmother. 
Aunt Judith. 

Grandchildren, small boys and girls. 



Robert, 
Thomas, 
Bertram. 
Harry, 




Ruth, 
Dorothy 
Rachel. 
Helen. 


Guests, older grandchildren. 
Mortimer, 
Dick, 


Marjolaine, 
Elizabeth. 


Maskers, 

Cousin Jack 
Perkins, 


7 

Bill. 


Hodge, 
Joe, 




COSTUMES. 





Costumes should be those in the reign of Elizabeth, — ruffs, 
etc. The pages who play in " May Day " will do for the little 
boys, if they remove their hats and boots. Should wear shoes 
with buckles. Four of the little girls in their Puritan costume 
can take part in this. Maskers may wear grotesque costumes. 
Jack should be in full dress, covered by a domino, which he 
throws off when he unmasks. 

97 



98 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Scene. — Hall in an old English house. Sideboard (B.C. ) with 
refreshments, cake, pitcher, and mugs. Room decorated with 
evergreen, a mistletoe-bough hanging from ceiling. Some 
antique furniture. Grandma sitting r. knitting. Curtain 
rises to dance-music. The small boys and girls dancing. All 
hands round, then grand right and left. As they meet part- 
ners second time, Robert pulls Ruth under the mistletoe, 
and kisses her. Robert and Ruth should stand with backs 
to audience as they begin right and left. 

Bertram. Oh, Robert hath stole a kiss ! 
All. Shame, shame! (Laugh and point at Ruth.) A 
stolen kiss ! Shame ! 

(Ruth runs to Grandma, and, kneeling beside her, hides her 
face in her lap. ) 

Tom. There is no cause for such a turmoil. Doubtless 
Mistress Ruth dissembles. 

. Rachel (standing beside Ruth). Indeed, she does not. 
She is weeping. 

Girls. Shame on you, Robert ! 

Rob. Indeed, and is she not my cousin? And, forsooth, is 
this not Christmas eve ? 

Bert, (pointing up). And that, good friends, the mistletoe ? 

Ruth (lifting her face, while Grandma caresses her). It was 
a liberty, all the same. 

Grandma. There, there, little' One, do not grieve. Master 
Bobby shall look to his manners in future. 

Rob. Missy is too squeamish. I thought perchance she'd 
like it. (All laugh.) 

Dorothy (standing directly under mistletoe). Master Robert 
makes fine excuses, but a maid hath good right to take offence 
when a lad plays a scurvy trick upon her, just because, 
forsooth, she stand beneath — 

All. Seize her, Tom, seize her. 



CHRISTMAS. 99 

(Tom kisses Dorothy, who pushes him avjay, and then runs to 
Grandma, and also hides her head in her lap.) 

Grandma. Tut, tut, laddies! Enough is as good as a feast. 

Rob {standing before Grandma). Look you, grandam, did 
you, perchance, make such a riot ? 

Grandma. When the young lads kissed me, grandson ? In 
good sooth, Master Impertinence, 'tis so long since, I have 
forgotten. 

All. Oh, ho ! grandam, thou meanest thou wilt not tell ? 

(Enter Aunt Judith.) 

All. Aunt Judith, have they come ? Are they without ? 
Aunt J. They are at the door. Prepare to welcome them. 
All. Hurrah ! 

{Enter Guests.) 

All. Merry Christmas, merry Christmas! 

Aunt J. How cold you are ! 

Grandma. My children, you are truly welcome. 

{They remove wraps, assisted by children.) 

Bert. Is there snow without ? 

Marjolaine. Faith, no! The night is perfect. 

Mortimer. Egad! the stars above were only outshone by 
our fair cousin's eyes. 

Elizabeth. Oh, shame, cousin Mortimer! to pay compli- 
ments on Christmas eve. 

Marj. We drove, good grandam, and found it passing 
pleasant. 

Grandma. A long drive, forsooth. 

Dick. What say you, grandam ? A matter of two leagues, 
and a pretty cousin beside one ? 

Rob. Perchance, cousin Dick, there was a mistletoe-bough 
at hand ? 

Eliz. O you rogue! 

{Chases him under the bough.) 

All. Elizabeth is under. Kiss her, kiss her, somebody! 



IOO A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

Grandma (pulling Elizabeth away). There, there! 
Grandam to the rescue ! 

All (besieging Grandma). It is grandam' s turn. She 
hath brought it upon herself. 

Grandma (straightening her cap). Tut, tut! You're saucy- 
rogues. I'll take the lash to ye, yet. Look at my cap! 

(Music without.) 
Aunt J. Whisht! listen! There is music. 
All (listen, then shout). The maskers ! they are coming ! 
Grandma. Sh-sh ! 

(Air from " Sunnyside." Maskers outside sing.) 

We three kings of Orient are; 
Bearing gifts we traverse far, 

Field and fountain, moor and mountain, 
Following yonder star. 

O star of wonder, star of might, 
Star with royal beauty bright, 

Westward leading, still proceeding, 
Guide us to the perfect Light! 

(All applaud.) 
Mar J. It is a sweet carol. 
Aunt J. Bertram, lad, invite them to enter. 
Grandma. We must give them Christmas cheer. 
Aunt J. Indeed we must. 

(Enter Maskers. All laugh. Little girls run in terror to 

Grandma. Maskers stand in line across back of stage. ) 

Boys. Merry Christmas to ye ! 

Maskers. The same to ye, one and all. 

Grandma. It is fitting that we sing a rousing carol, and 
then we'll bid these friends unmask. Sing, I command ye. 

(All sing Christmas carol from " Sunnyside. 91 ) 
£.ll. God rest ye, merry gentlemen; 

Let nothing you dismay, 
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, 
Was born on Christmas Day. 



CHRISTMAS. IQI 

The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, 

The stars shone through the gray, 
Girls. When Jesus Christ, the Saviour, 

Boys. Was born on Christmas Day. 

All. When Jesus Christ, the Saviour, 

Was born on Christmas Day. 

All. God rest ye, little children, 

Let nothing you affright, 
For Jesus Christ, the blessed One, 

Was born on Christmas night. 
Aloug the hills of Galilee, 

The white flocks sleeping lay, 
Girls. When Christ, the Child of Nazareth, 

Boys. Was born on Christmas Day. 

All. When Christ, the Child of Nazareth, 

Was born on Christmas Day. 

Grandma and Aunt J. That was good ! 
Grandma. Now, my lads, remove the masks. 

(All unmask. Children laugh.) 

Little Girls. Behold! it's cousin Jack! 

Rob. Here's Hodge! 

Bert. Hi, Bill! 

Tom. Egad ! it is Joe the stable-boy. 

Harry and Dick. In truth, Perkins, we did not expect to 
find thee in this scrimmage 

Grandma. Ye are all welcome this Christmas eve. 
Daughter Judith, dispense the hospitality to our guests. 

(Aunt J. retires to sideboard, followed by the little girls, who 
pass refreshments about; meantime conversation continues.) 

Tom (to Jack). Faith, cousin Jack, you played us a good 
trick. We did not look for you among the maskers. 

Rob (nudging Hodge). Look ye, Hodge. He makes a 
good one, is't not so? 

Hodge. 'Deed he does, young master. 

Perkins. He's rugged as the rest of us. 

Jack (to Marjolaine). Well, cousin Marjolaine, what 
is't offends thee? 



102 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

Marj. You may well ask, cousin Jack. A gentleman to 
have so little dignity, forsooth, as to spend his evening in the 
society of maskers ! 

Jack. Instead, fair mistress, of making love to pretty 
cousins, and kissing them under the — 

Marj. Cousin Jack, I protest. Return to your friends. 

( Clock strikes twelve. ) 

Aunt J. Hark! the clock is striking twelve. Now wel- 
come Christmas Day. 

(Air. — Madrigal from " Mikado. 97 ) 

All. Welcome, welcome Christmas Day, 

Midnight bells are all a-ringing; 
Let us, let us all be singing, 
Welcome, welcome, Christmas Day. 
We will drive away all sorrow, 
Naught but pleasure for the morrow ; 
Midnight bells chime with our song, 
Ding-dong, ding-dong. 
As the veil of night doth fall 
Over one and over all, 
Sing a merry madrigal. 
Tra-la-la, etc. 

Curtain 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 



CHARACTERS. 

Cupid, 

Marjolaine, 
Kate, 
Jane, 

SUSETTE, 

Annie, 

Elaine, 

Fannie, 

Bridget, Servant. 



School -girls. 



COSTUMES. 
School-girls in modern dress. Cupid in tights, with trunks, 
sandals, quiver full of arrows at his back, wings and a satchel 
the shape of a heart, filled with valentines ; bow and arrow in 
his hand. Bridget, servant-girl dress, — cap, etc. 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 
Scene. — Reception-room at boarding-school. Small table r. f., 
chair l. f. Other furniture ad libitum. Enter Cupid ( l. ) 
as curtain rises. Conies up f. with stealth// step. 

SONG. 

(Air. — U A most intense young jnan," "Patience.") 
Cupid. Come, boys, do not repine; 

The day at last is mine, 
And Cupid will rule 
Each young ladies' school, 
By leave of St. Valentine. 

10 3 



104 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

Who dares my sway dispute, 
I'll quickly through her shoot 

This sharp little arrow, 

Her feelings to harrow, 
And give her pain acute. 

I've a very dreadful dart, 
Which causes a terrible smart. 

No maid is too old, 

No man is so bold, 
But I can hit his heart. 

( Music continues. Cupid produces six valentines from his 
satchel.) 

Cupid. • Here's one for Kate and Jane ; 

Here's one for sweet Elaine ; 

And here's one for Fannie, 

For Susette, and Annie, 
But none for Marjolaine, 

( Puts valentines on table, picks up his bow and arrows, which he 
has laid down ivhile sorting the valentines, walks about med- 
itating for a moment, then comes f., winks at audience, and 

speaks.) 

Cupid. My, won't she be in a pet ! 

(Dances off r., singing, "I've a very dreadful darty etc. 
Enter l. immediately, Kate and Jane.) 

Kate. It is the 14th of February. Dear me ! I wish it was 
time for the postman. 

Jane (seeing valentines). Why, Kate, look here ! Our let- 
ters have come. 

Kate (seizing valentines). Oh, valentines, valentines! Call 
the girls. 

Jane (calling off). Girls, girls! hurry up! The mail is in! 

(Enter, with a rush, Fannie, Annie, Susette, Elaine.) 

All. Good-morning. Good-morning. 

Kate. Just look at the valentines ! 

Annie and Fannie. Any for me ? 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. io 5 

Susette. Oh, do hurry up! 
Elaine. Let us see them. 

(Enter Marjolaine, unnoticed] stands listening.) 
Kate. This is for Jane, and this for Susette. Here, Annie, 
is yours; and Fannie, yes, this is for you. Come, "sweet 
Elaine," and get yours. But, oh, dear me ! (with a glance at 
Marjolaine) there is only one left, and that is for — me. 

Marj. Good-morning, girls. You need not look so disturbed 
because I have no valentine. I feel myself beyond such child- 
ish things. ( With a shrug.) The custom is obsolete. ( Sits l. ) 
Girls. O Marjolaine ! how can you say so ? 
Jane. It's awfully jolly, obsolete or not. 

Kate. ( approaching Marjolaine ). Now listen, dear, to 
this. Oh, it's so sweet! He says (reading valentine),—* 
" My heart doth wear a fetter 
That thou hast o'er it thrown, 
And I my life would wager 
None doth a heavier own." 
All. Oh, oh! how lovely! Whom do you suspect? Is it 
Fred, or Jim, or Jack, or Harry, or — 
Kate. Girls, how can you ask 3 
Jane. Now hear mine. (Reads.) 

" In pleasure's dream or sorrow's hour, 
In crowded hall or lonely bower, 
The business of my life shall be 
Forever to remember thee." 
All. How perfectly sweet I 

Susette (with a sigh). Oh, mine is so faithful! I know 
Gregory sent it, 
Fannie and Annie. Read it, dear. 
Susette ( reads ). 

" Ah, not alone when spring is smiling, 
Ah, not alone when summer reigns : 
Our love shall last when days are waning, 
And winter holds the earth in chains." 



106 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

Marj. Supposing you read the others in the retirement of 
your bedrooms. This is really quite nauseating. 

Kate. O Marjie, dear, how can you be so heartless! You 
dampen all our ardor. 

Annie and Fannie. Mean thing ! 

Jane (aside). Oh, she'd be all right if only she had a val- 
entine. 

Elaine ( coming forward ) . Really, Marjolaine, I don't want 
to offend you, but this is just too sweet for any thing 
( Reads ). 

" Roses white, roses red, 
Roses in the lane ; 
Tell me, roses red and white, 
Where is sweet Elaine ? " 
All. Sh-sh ! An appointment ! How exciting ! You'll 
have to meet him. 

Susette. What a lark ! 
(Knock. All separate, and look demure, hiding valentines 
behind them. Enter Bridget with a large valentine.) 

All. O Bridget, quick ! Is it for me 1 

Bridget. Faith, now, how can I tell ? I'm that flustered, 
I could'nt read the handwritin' o' me own mother. 

Marj. Why, what is the matter % 

Bridget. Matter enough ! Whisht, now, an' I'll tell yez. 
But mind ye, close thim doors, an' keep mum-like : I'd not 
have the school-missis ketch me, — no, not in this scrape. 
( Girls close doors on tiptoe, then crowd about Bridget.) 

Kate. Now tell us. 

Marj. Give me the valentine first. 

Bridget. Faith an' I will. Take it, an' I'm well quit of 
it. 

Marj. ( readinq ). " Miss M. L. Endicott," It is for me. 
girls ! look ! ( Opening valentine.) 

Jane (aside ). An obsolete custom ! 

Bridget (to Marjolaine ). Miss Marjolaine, wait a bit. 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 107 

Thim love-letters'll kape, but he is beyant there in the cedar 
closet, an' I'm that puzzled — 

Fannie and Annie. He ? \ 

Susette and Elaine. Who? > All together. 

Kate and Jane. The Postman ? ) 

Bridget. Postman, indade ! Is it me head ye think has 
gone asunder, as well as me heart ? 

Marj. Well, who is it, then ? The gentleman who sent 
this? 

Bridget. Whisht, now ? What do ye take me for ? Hiding 
young gintlemen in closets in a selict boarding-school 1 01 
no ! 

Kate. Why don't you tell us, then ? 

Jane. We are dying to know. 

All. Oh, do hurry up ! 

Bridget. Faith an' I will, an' git out o* this. I'm that 
confused in me head, I donno where to begin, but ye'll know 
I'm tellin' yez the truth whin I projuce the b'y. 

All. The boy ! What do you mean ? 

Bridget. Listen, now, till I tell yez. The bell rings, an' I 
says to mesilf, " 'Tis the postman ; " an' I goes hasty-like to 
the door, mindin' the day, ye know. I opens it quick-like, an' 
there forninst me was the purtiest little b'y ye'd see in a 
twilvemonth. 'Twas mesilf that had a frindly word on me 
tongue, whin I noticed the clothes as was not on him. It 
struck me all spacheless ; an' thin I took notice o' the shootin' 
masheen he had with him, the likes o' which the young ladies 
has at the archery 

Marj. Why, it was Cupid himself ! 

Fannie and Annie. How exciting ! 

Susette and Elaine. What did he do ? 

Kate and Jane. What did you say ? 

Bridget, What did I say ? Nothin' at all, but looked at 
him with me two eyes. What did he do ? Faith an' he tipped 
me a wink ; an', och, ohone ! the pain that I got in me heart, 
it went clane through, an' came out at me back. I took the 



108 A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 

letther, an' I was that okkipied in thinkin' o' me first cousin 
once removed, that he'd got away, sure, that imp o' darkness, 
but jist thin he winked again an* laughed. It is not in me 
nature to stand bein' made game of, an I sazed upon him. I 
took him in me arms, an' I carried him claue through into the 
cedar closet, him a-strooglin' an' a-kickin' an a-stickin' o' 
thim darts into me the whole way. until I'm all of a quiver. 
He's yander, well fastened in along with the coats an' mufflers. 
Faith, an' it wouldn't harm him to put on a few. 

Kate- O Bridget ! go bring him in. 

Jane. What fun ! 

Marj. We'll make him tell who sent the valentines 

Bridget. Faith, now, young ladies, what do ye take me for ? 
I'l l'ave the handlin' o' him to others after this day. 

Elaine. Why, Bridget, it is only Cupid. — Love, you know. 

Bridget. It's more pain than pleasure, whatever name ye 
give it ; an' I'll l'ave it to yerselves, young ladies, to injuce him 
vo come forth. 

All. Who'll go with Bridget ? ( A pause. Girls look at 
each other. No answer. ) 

Bridget. Faith, an' it's afraid ye are. I don't wonder. 

SUSETTE. I'll gO. 

All. O Susette ! what a trump you are 1 (Exuent Susette 
and Bridget. ) 

Jane. Oh, I am so excited ! 

Kate. What will he be like ? 

Annie. Fm all of a tremble. 

Fannie. So am I. 

Marj. None of you ask about my valentine, and it is set to 
music too. ( Humming. ) 

All. Oh, sing it to us ! 

Marj. Oh, how can I ? The very thought makes me blush ! 

Girls. Oh, do, do ! 

Marj. ( Sings. An air can be selected to suit voice and 
words. With a little change, " Oh, how Delightful,^ by J. L 
Molloy, may be used. ) 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. io 9 

*' Who will buy pansies ? 
There are her eyes, 
Dew- soft and tender ; 
Love in them lies. 

Who will buy roses ? 

There are her lips, 
And there is the nectar 

Cupidon sips. 

Who will buy lilies ? 

There are her cheeks, 
And there the shy blushing 

That maidhood bespeaks. 

Darling, sweet darling, 

What must one pay ? 
Good stranger, the market's 

Not open to-day ! " 

All. Oh, how lovely ! how entrancing ! 

Kate. Do you suppose Cupid will tell us who sent it ? 

Jane ( at door ). They are coming. 

( Enter Susette leading Cupid. Girls crowd around him.) 
Jane. O you dear little thing ! 
Kate. Isn't he lovely ! 

( Cupid breaks away and runs to r. f. ) 

Elaine. Did you really bring these valentines ? 

Annie. Who sent them ? 

Susette. He won't tell. 

Marj. ( approaching Cupid ). Oh, yes, he will ! 

Cupid (aiming arrow at her). Take care! These arrows are 
very sharp. 

Marj. (kneeling before him). Oh, tell me, please! I'm not 
afraid of your arrows : my heart is pierced already. 

Kate, (putting hand on her heart). And so is mine. 

Jane (ditto). And mine. 

Elaine. And mine. 

Susette. And mine. 



no 



A CARNIVAL OF DAYS. 



Annie. And mine. 
Susette. And mine. 
Bridget (at door). An' 
All. So tell us, please ! 



moine. 



( Same air, from " Patience. " ) 
Cupid. Your request I must decline ; 

The secret is not mine. 
If you would discover 
The name of your lover, 
Go ask St. Valentine. 

Girls. You've wounded each one's heart 

With your nasty little dart, 
And now it's your pleasure, 
With joy beyond measure, 
To aggravate the smart. 

Chorus. 

All. You come with manners coy, 

You saucy little boy ; 

You cannot deceive, 

We'll always believe 
That love brings only joy. 

( Chorus repeated. ) 

Cupid. I come with manners coy, 

I'm a saucy little boy ; 
I never deceive, 
You need not believe 
That love is only joy. 
(Repeat chorus, all singing together, and dance. ) 



Curtain. 



DREAM OF THE CENTURIES 



OTHER ENTERTAINMENTS FOR 
PARLOR AND HALL 



GEO. B. BARTLETT 

AND OTHERS 



A DREAM OF THE CENTURIES. 

By E. S. Brooks. 



CHARACTERS : 

History. Columbia. 

A Mound-Builder. An Indian Chief. 

Spanish Adventurer of 1500. Mrs. Robert Murray (1776). 

Pocahontas. Dutchman of 1607. 

Priscilla the Puritan. Quaker of 1650. 

Continental Soldier. Soldier of 1812. 

The Boy in Blue. The Boy in Gray. 
Children : Harry, Jenny, Tom, Lucy. 

Place of Action — New York City. Time — Present Day. 



Enter History. 
History. Back in the ages, centuries ago, 
When out of Chaos life began to flow ; 
When Eden, blossoming with love and light, 
Taught the hard lesson that no wrong was right ; 
When on Devonian shores no eye might scan 
The faintest symptom of the biped — man; 
But when alone in solemn grandeur stalked 
The Mega Mega Mega-a 

Oh, dear ! I can't remember that horrid long word 

when alone in solemn grandeur stalked 

The Mega Mega 



Well, it's a Mega something or other, and then there are 

a lot more of just such awful ten-syllabled names that I can't 
begin to pronounce. I'll just drop the poetry and explain to 
you all that I am History, and she, I know, was one of the Nine 
Muses, because I have read all about her in my reading-book. 
Her name was — let me see — Melpomone ? Terpsichore ? No 
— oh! Clio! that's what it was — Clio ! She was the Muse of 
History — well, that's me ! And you must know that I am as 
old as the hills, because when the world began, then I began. 
Of course that's all make-believe, for you know very well that 

my name is and I am only years old. But I'm 

playing that I am History in this piece. 

Well, I am walking up and down the earth thinking of all the 
events I have recorded in past ages, and with my tablets all 
ready to note down every new occurrence. Last year I was 
dreadfully busy, for that was Centennial year, you know, and in 
fact, as every day almost is an anniversary of some particular 
event in our Revolutionary history, I expect to be kept hard at 
work for some years yet. 

Do you know I have often thought that it would be good fun 
to kind of mix up all the things I have taken notice of ? Just in- 
troduce the tenth century to the sixth, for instance, or 1677 to 
1877. Don't you think it would be nice ? I shall have to think 
about it ! {Noise of children heard.) 

Ah ! here comes some children. I do so like children, don't 
you ? They are a sort of preface to my book, because of course 
their real history comes after them. I don't doubt that I shall 
have to write one of those boys as president fifty years from 

now ; — President ! how would that sound ! And that 

little girl — well perhaps she will be president too or presi- 

dentess, for you can't tell what may happen in these go-ahead 
days. 

I will just make myself invisible and hear what they are talk- 
ing about (waves her pen-wand). There, now I am invisible. 

( She withdraws to one corner of the stage and listens.) 



Enter Harry, Jenny, Tom, Lucy {with books etc.). 

Harry. Say, Jenny! just hear my history lesson, won't you ? 

Jennie. All right (takes the book). Where did Washington 
go after the Battle of Long Island ? 

Harry. After the Battle of Long Island, Washington went 
to — to — let me see — after the — Battle — of — Long — Island 
— Washington went to — to — oh, dear me, just tell me the next 
word, won't you, please ? 

Jennie. Went — to — Fort 

Harry. Oh, yes ! went to Fort — Sumter — where he — 

All (laughing). Ha, ha, ha ! 

Harry. What are you all laughing at ? 

Jennie. Oh, you stupid! How could General Washington 
go to Fort Sumter ? 

Tom. Fort Sumter don't come till the 215th page in the his- 
tory — in the war between the States. 

Harry. Well, I don't know then. I hate History, anyhow. 
I've just studied that old lesson as hard as I could, and I don't 
believe I can say a word of it. It's a mean old study, I think. 

Lucy. So do I ! Do you know I wish I had lived in the Gar- 
den of Eden, and then there couldn't have been any history to 
study, and none of those horrid recapitulations ! I'm sure I don't 
care to know when William the Conqueror fought the Battle of 
Waterloo. 

Jemzie. I don't think you ever will know that. 

Tom. No, the idea, Lucy ! William the Conqueror never saw 
Waterloo. 

Lucy. Well, somebody did, and I don't care who it was. 

Je?mie. Don't you care to know anything of your own coun- 
try? 

Harry. No ! what difference will it make — 

Lucy. A hundred years from now ? 

Tom. Well, I notice there's plenty of talk these days about 
a hundred years ago. 

Harry. Oh, that's 'cause it's just been Centennial year. 



Jennie. And all the more reason why we ought to know all 
about what we have been celebrating. Only think of all the 
things that have happened just here where we are standing ! 

Topi. Wouldn't it be jolly if we could see all the people that 
have ever been here ? Whew ! what a crowd there would be ! 

Jennie. Yes, or if we could see any of the persons we read 
about. Imagine me talking to a lady of a hundred years ago, 
all flounces, and laces, and powder. 

Harry. And me to an Indian Chief such as you read about in 
Cooper's novels. 

Lucy. O, and me to that lovely, darling Pocahontas — just 
the sweetest Indian girl that ever was. 

Tom. And me to old Peter Stuyvesant, or one of the old 
Knickerbocker Dutchmen. 

Harry. Why, yes, that would make History real interesting 
— be a sort of object-teaching, wouldn't it ? 

History {coming forward). Would you really like to see all 
these people, children ? 

{The children all start hastily ', draw back, and speak together.) 

Lucy. Oh-h — good gracious! 

Tom. Why, who is that ? 

Harry. Gemini-pel tz ! 

Jennie. O-o-oh, my gracious me ! 

History. Don't be alarmed, children. I am harmless — to 
look at ! 

All ( taking a step towards her). Who are you ? 

History. I am what Jennie and Tom like, and Harry and 
Lucy abominate. 

All. What is that ? 

History. History ! 

All. History ? 

History. Yes, I am the Muse of History. Would you like 
to see all these people you have been talking about ? would you ? 
You shall ! Behold ! thus do I wave my wand and place you all 
in the power of a lingering dream, and thus, by the power of my 
magic pen, do I summon the past and mingle the centuries into 
one. 



( She slowly waves her hand and steps backward to one corner 
of the stage, while music — low and soft — is played. Suddenly 
the Mound-Builder appears at the back of the stage, halts a mo- 
ment, and then advances to the front.) 

Harry. O-o-oh ! Tom, Jennie, — see there ! There's a fel" 
low all dressed in skins. 

Tom. I wonder who he is ! 

Lucy and Jennie* S-s-sh ! 

Mound-Builder : 
I am one of the boys of whom scientists speak. 
A man, pre-historic ; Dame Nature's first freak. 
I am one of the Mound-Builders, dusty with age, 
Half fact, and half fiction — but, just now, the rage. 
For, first of all bipeds with reason endowed, 
I lead in the van of the gathering crowd, 
The dwellers primeval ! the first of the race ! 
'Way back in the ages we owned the whole place. 
No trace of our civilization is left ; 
Of life, home and country, we soon were bereft, 
When the Red Men — a horde of resistless invaders — 
Came — and proved themselves any but nice next-door neighbors. 
They conquered, — enslaved us — and you know the rest. 
Now nothing remains of us, save in the West, 
Where huge mounds, scattered over the country, relate 
Only part of our customs, but not of our fate. 

Tom. Well, now, that was kind of rough, wasn't it ? 

Harry. Yes, it was. But I wouldn't have given in if I had 
been you. 

Jennie. Where did you go to, please ? 

Mound-Builder : 
Like the great orb of heaven when daylight is done, 
We went westward — and westward — and sank — with the sun. 

( Steps to one side. With a bound the Indian appears at the 
rear of the stage — strides hastily to the front and half-faces the 
children.) 

Tom. Hullo, Harry ! There's the Indian Chief you wanted 
to see. 



Indian. I am Wau-ban-i, — the Fire-Brand ! 
Chief of thrice two hundred lodges ! 
When I walk, the mountains tremble. 
When I speak, the ocean listens. 
As my left hand sways the lightning, 
So my right hand grasps the whirlwind. 
All the arrows in my quiver, 
In my quiver fringed with wampum, 
Speed them straight with aim unerring, 
Bearing death to deer and panther, 
Bearing death to wolf and eagle, 
Bearing death, with aim unerring, 
To the heart of foe and rival. 
Stronger than the oak in winter, 
Straighter than the pine and cedar, 
Mightier than the furious tempest, 
Am I — Wau-ban-i — the Fire-brand, 
Chief of thrice two hundred lodges, 
Brave and strong and straight and mighty — 

Ugh ! that's me ! that's me ! Big Injun ! 

Tom. Well, I must say, Mr. Wau-ban-i, you are just about 
the most modest man I've ever seen. So unassuming and re- 
tiring ! 

Harry. Say ! were you ever a small boy, Mr. Fire-brand ? 
Tom. How is it there are so few now, if you were really so 
very terrible ! 

Indian. When the pale -face rode the water 
On his birds with giant pinions, 
With his tubes that sent out lightning 
And his drink of fire-water, — 
Then, the red-man, turning westward, 
Interviewed the setting sun -light. 

[Steps back.) 

Harry. Well, that's rather a neat way of putting it. {Enter 
Spaniard — pompously. ~\ Hey — oh! Who's this ? 



Spaniard: 
With Christopher Columbus from Palos did I sail, 
Bearing high Spain's glorious banner, in my gleaming coat-of- 

mail. 
From the shores of Hispanola, fairest gem of southern sea, 
To the sunny Land of Flowers roamed I, gallant, brave and free, 
Claiming all the lands before us, all the islands of the main, 
For Ferdinand and Isabella, King and Queen of mighty Spain. 
Over river, plain and forest in our triumph did we go, 
Hunting heretics in Cuba, gathering gold in Mexico ; 
Founding empires in fancy, — builded in a fertile brain — 
Bringing all the worlds before us to the crown of Sovereign 
Spain ! 

Tom. Only you didn't, Don Magnifico ! 

Harry. Say ! what was your name when you had one ? 

Spaniard : 
Don Hernando Pedro Pablo Cristoval di Farragon. 
Benito Santa Maria, Knight of Fons in Arragon. 

Tom. Whew ! 

Lucy. Did your mamma call you all that when you were a 
little teenty tonty mit£ of a baby ? 

Harry. Why, Nannie, his name was Maria ! How could 
that be ? That's a girl's name. 

Jennie. Oh, well, I suppose they got sort of mixed up when 
they were naming him and forgot all about that. 

(Pocahontas appears at rear of stage.) 

Lucy. Oh, my ! see there, Jennie ! I know that's Pocahon- 
tas, the darling, sweet little Indian girl. 
Pocahontas : 

In many a glade 
Where sun and shade 
Make fair the happy land, 
Where broad and slow 
The rivers flow, 
My father's lodges stand. 
The mighty chieftain, Pow-hat-tan, 
Of strong and sovereign hand. 



A forest child, 
Untaught and wild, 
I loved each tree and flower ; 
While each new day 
I roamed at play, 
Made happy every hour ; 
And ruled my father, Pow-hat-tan, 
With an imperial power. 

The pale-face came, 
My father's name 
And mighty power feared ; 
I stood their friend 
Until the end, 
When war the hatchet reared, 
And made my father, Pow-hat-tan, 
Spare Mr. Smith — I did. • 

The white-man's snare 
( But — I don't — care ) . 
My poor, poor heart laid low, 
For, when he came 
I changed my name, 
And — really — liked it so. 
And Pocahontas Pow-hat-tan 
Is Mrs. Rolfe, you know. 

( Steps back.) 

Lucy. Oh, Jennie ! Wouldn't we like to have been Indian 
girls and lived out among the birds and the flowers all the time ? 

Harry. And got jolly and frost-bitten and nearly frozen in 
the winter-time ! hey, Lucy ? 

Lucy. Oh — well — only in summer, I mean. 

( Dutchman walks stolidly in y looks at ail the people and starts 
as if in surprise?) 



Tom. Hey, Harry ! look at the Dutchman ! 
Dutchman : 

Potz und tansend ! Donner blitzen ! 
Was is das ? I'd like to know ? 
Vot you do here all you beobles 
Dot vos mein owen blace — dot's so ! 
I coomed here mit Heindrik Hoodson 
In dot good old ship Halluf-Moon. 
Mit mein bipe unt mit mein pretzels 
Mit mein lager and bassoon. 
Und I had von pig Dootch varm-hans 
In der Bourie — dot vos me ! 
Built mit bricks I brought on purpose 
From dot far off Zuyder - Zee. 
Vot's my name ? mein liddle kinder ? 
Meinherr Deidrich Vanderschamm 
Of — vot you call New York City, 
Und / calls New Amsterdam. 
Harry. And what became of you, Mr. Vanderschamm ? Did 
you go off with Henry Hudson too ? 
Dutchman : 

I vos now yoost oop dot river, 
Vere dose Kaatskill mountains schmile, 
Und — mit goot old Heindrik Hoodson, 
I blays nine pins — all der vile. 
Tom. Why, then you must be one of the parties Washington 
Irving tells about. He says you put Rip Van Winkle to sleep, 
up there, for ever so long. 
Dutchman : 

Dot vas meinherr Rip Van Wrinkle ? 
Lazy vellar so I hears — 
Dot vos so, we yoost schky-yoogled 
Him to sleep, for sevansey years. 
(Steps aside. Enter Pr is cilia the Puritan and the Quaker.) 



Lucy, Oh, Jennie, who do you suppose that sweet little 
woman is ? Isn't she prim ! 

Jennie. I don't know, I'm sure, Lucy — unless she is one of 
the girls who came over in the Mayflower. 
Lucy. But she can't be a Pilgrim Father. 
Harry. And just look at that little Quaker man. 
Tom. He must be one of William Penn's party. 
Priscilla : 

Where angry waves in fury lashed 

A rock-bound, stormy land, 

Where, stern and cold, the wintry skies 

Hung o'er the Pilgrim band, 

We stood that dark December day 

And blessed the new-found sod 

That gave us what our home denied — 

Freedom to worship God. 

With Bradford and Miles Standish bold, 

I, in the Mayflower, came — 

A maiden of the Puritans, 

Priscilla is my name. 
Quaker : 

And I, from persecution dire, 

From English home did go, 

And, sailing westward, came with Penn 

To where, green-banked and low, 

The Schuylkill and the Delaware 

Down to the ocean flow. 

And there, between the kindred streams, 

A quiet home I found, 

Where from the Indians I bought 

A plot of fertile ground. 
Priscilla : 

And where John Alden made our home 

Beside the sounding sea, 

From Plymouth up to Boston Bay, 

And westward, where the forests lay, 

Now, in this later, busy day, 
' Cities and towns there be. 



Jennie. Oh, yes, Priscilla, it's all built up 'way back — ever 
50 far. My grandfather lives at Taunton, and that is a big city. 

Tom. And as for your plot of ground between the Schuylkill 
^ind the Delaware — why — that's an awful big city, almost as 
big as New York. 

Harry. Yes ; that's where they had the Centennial last year, 
and everybody in the world was there. I was there, anyhow. 
Quaker : 

Ah, yes ! By Delaware's bright waves, 
By Schuylkill's field and fen, 
Great squares of brick and marble spread, 
Where once my cottage reared its head, 
And countless throngs of workers tread 
The lands of William Penn. 
( The roll of a drum is heard. Continental Soldier appears at 
rear of stage with gun at * shoulder arms.'' He gives the salute, 
marches to front of stage and ''presents arms ; ' then stands at 
1 parade rest. 1 Drum continues to beat during the movements 
attending his entrance.) 
Continental Soldier : 

I helped the boys on Bowling Green 
Pull the King's statue down ; 
I raised the shout, 
And joined the rout, 
. That fired this loyal town. 
I fought the Red-coats all the years, — 
Through which, 'midst wavering hopes and fears, 
That baptism of blood and tears 

Our nation did annoint — 
With Washington at Trenton Plains, 
And Wayne at Stony Point 
I strove to make the Red-coats yield 
On many a well-contested field, 
In many a bitter fight ; 
I felt the ills of Valley Forge 

In sorrow's dismal night ; 
Till Yorktown's Day 
Drove fear away, 
And crowned the cause of Right. 



( Steps aside.) 

Harry. Three cheers for you ! Hurrah ! 

Tom. I tell you now he's just splendid, ain't he? 

( Enter Mrs. Robert Murray ■, who advances to front and 
makes a low courtesy.) 

Lucy. Oh, just see there, Jennie ; what a charming little 
lady! 

Tom. She is one of the ladies of a hundred years ago, whom 
you said yoit would like to see. 

Jennie. What a lovely dress ! And see, her hair is all pow- 
dered. I wonder who she is ? 
Mrs. Murray : 

Our homestead stood 'midst pleasant fields, 
Where now the builder's skill 
Block after block of palaces 
Has reared on Murray Hill. 
The Murray mansion was my home, 
And Murray was my name, 
And there one day, in hot pursuit, 
The British army came. 
The General, Sir William Howe, 
In haste was pressing on 
Where Washington's retreating force • 
Across the hills had gone. 
But I was rebel to the core, 
And vowed to do my part 
To save the General, who was dear 
To every patriot heart. 
With smiling words and pleasant talk, 
And table richly spread, 
I kept the British officers, 
While fast the moments sped; 
With anxious heart 
I played my part, 



And, when they galloped on, 
My brief delay 
Had won the day, 
For Washington was gone. 
Jennie. Oh ! what a brave little woman ! And did not Gen- 
eral Washington thank you ever so much ? 
Mrs. Murray : 

Oh, yes, my dear; 
He journeyed here 
One day, in after years, 
And took my hand 
With words so grand 
He called forth happy tears. 
And with him came — 
You know his name — 
Ah, me ! I hear it yet, 
Our country's friend, 
Whom France did send, 
The Marquis Lafayette. 
(Steps aside.) 

Jennie. How I should like to have been there. I do so love 
that dear Lafayette, don't you, Tom ? 

Tom. Yes ma'am ! I think he was a regular brick. 
Harry. Now, who comes next ? 

( Drum heard again. Soldier of 1&12 enters with same military 
manoeuvres as the Centinental Soldier.) 

Lucy. Oh, another soldier ! 
Soldier ofi%i2: 

When Miss Columbia was young, 

Some sixty years ago, 
Her mother — Dame Britannia — 

Her power tried to show, 
By bothering Miss Columbia 
About her ships, you know. 



But Miss Columbia would not stand 

Such wicked conduct then ; 
She stood her ground courageously 

And summoned all her men, 
Who taught old Dame Britannia 

To keep the peace again. 

And I was with Columbia's men 

When fast the bullets flew, 
With Gen. Scott, at Lundy's Lane, 

With Perry's gallant crew, 
And down behind the cotton balls 

With General Jackson, too. 

( Steps aside.) 

Harry and Tom : 

" The army and Navy forever, 
.Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue ! " 

(A great scuffling is heard outside — then enter Columbia 
with flag, driving or dragging in the Boy in Blue and the Boy 
in Gray — both much disheveled.) 
Columbia : 

You naughty boys ! I'm quite ashamed, 

I'm pained, I do declare ! 
To find you so, with doubled fists 

And such disordered hair. 
How many times must I repeat 

The lesson you should know — 
Those little lines I taught you both 
So many years ago ! 

( Shakes her finger at them. ) 

" Let dogs delight 
To bark and bite, 
For 'tis their nature to ; 
Let bears and lions 
Growl and fight, 



For God has made them so ; 
But, children, you should never let 
Your angry passions rise, 
Your little hands were never made 
To tear each other's eyes." 

Now tell me what the reason is 

For this disgraceful thing ? 
And promise me, from this day forth, 

There'll be no quarreling. 

( The Boy in Blue and Boy in Gray speak alternately.) 

Boy in Blue. We've had a slight unpleasantness, 

Boy in Gray. In fact — we've had a row, 

Boy in Blue. But why it was, and how it was — 

( They both look at each other, shake their heads and speak to- 
together.) Well, we won't say just now. 

Boy in Blue. For, don't you see, w T e've made it up, 

Boy in Gray. And, shaking hands, agree 

Boy in Blue. That from this day we'll live in peace, 

Boy i7i Gray. From strife and passion free. 

Boy in Blue. For it was such an awful row 

Boy in Gray. ( A rough-and-tumble fight ) 

Boy in Blue. That, when we both were tired out, 

Boy in Gray. We thought it wasn't right. 

Boy in Blue. And so we promised, while our hearts were 

beating fast, 
Boy in Gray. Henceforth to be as brothers, both, 
And bury up the past. 

( Turning to Columbia.) 

Boy in Blue. And thou, Columbia, here the vow 

Boy in Gray. Which we renew to-day. 

( They join hands.) 

Boy in Blue. Hand clasping hand, 

Boy in Gray. We'll live as one, 

Boy in Blue. The B oys in Blue 

Boy in Gray. And Gray ! 

( Columbia places the flag between the?n so that its folds co'i'er 
them both.) 



Columbia : 

That's right ! that's right ! my bonny boys. 

Let History relate, 
In records true, the vow which you 

This day perpetuate. 
And oh, my children — one and all — 
To you Columbia speaks ! 
Preserve her honor, guard her cause, 
And give the love she seeks: 

(Reaches her hands to the historical characters.) 

O Shadows of the fading Past, • 

( Turns towad the children.) 

O Hope, that is to be, 

Still let your deeds, like crowns of light, 

Wreathe and encircle me. 

Advance your country's power and might, 

Her honor and her laws, 
Till all the nations of the earth 
Respect her sacred cause. 
Let free America uphold 

These truths, all else above : 
Man's universal brotherhood, 
And God's unchanging love ! 
The characters all form a half cirele. History advances with 
Columbia to the front of the stage and slowly waves her wand.) 
History : I 

The dream is over. 
Vanish now, ye memories of the Past ! 
And, children of the Future, 
Let this recollection last ; 
Remember too that History seeks 
To store your minds with light, 
That you, by knowledge of the past, 
May read life's book aright. 
And to your country, when the years 
Shall link you to her fate, 
Be true and loyal, knowing well 
What makes a perfect State ; — 
Not forts, nor ships, nor armed hosts, 
Nor gold, nor titles grand, 
But true hearts beating for the Right, 
God, and your native land ! 
(Music, Hail Columbians they pass off, or as the curtain falls.) 



MADEMOISELLE'S CHRISTMAS GIFTS 

By Mary Graham. 



MADEMOISELLE, who teaches French in various schools and 
homes, 

MINNIE, one of her pupils ■, a child about six years of age. 

Ellen, Mary, Susan, Sophy and Gertrude, her pupils in 
Miss Tabby's School. 

Benjamin, a private pupil, a lad of about a fifteen summers." 

Fanny, daughter of the lady with whom M'lle boards. She 
is devoted to M'lle. 

ACT I. 

SCEN E I. 

A school-room deserted by all but the French teacher and a very 
small girt. WPl.I.K is seated at her desk, while the little one 
comes toward her, heavily laden with a parcel almost as large (U 

herself 

Minnie. Mama'selle — 

M'lle. Ma petite ? 

Minnie. Here's a present that — 

M'lle. O ! parlez Francais, petite ; " voici un cadeau/ 

Minnie. Voici un cadeau de Noel pour vous — 

M' lie (with a start). Un cadeau de Noel ? pour moi? Mais 
ma chere enfant, il y a trois semaines d'ici a Noel. 

Minnie. Oui. Je le sais — mois j'avais peur de le — de le — 
O ! j'oublie le mot, — j'avais peur de les — to break them — 

M Hie. De les casser ? 
Minnie. Merci ! de ies casser, si je les gardais si longtemps 



et je prefere vous les donner maintenant, c'est une paire de 
vases. 

MHle (opening the package). O! le joli cadeau ! je vous 
remercie mille fois — surtout de l'attention . ( Throws her arms 
around Minnie's neck and kisses her. After examining the 
vases and admiring them, she wraps them up again, and kisses 
Minnie good-by. Exit Minnie, with a satisfied smile upon her 
face.) 

M'lle (alone.) Des vases ! des vases ! toujours des vases ! Ces 
enfants auront, elles jamais l'idee de me donnee autre chose que 
des vases a Noel ? L'anne derniere, j'en ai recu une douzaine 

— e'en est trop — eh bien ! J'aime ces enfants, et leur aimable 
attention me fait plaiser, mais je prefererais ne pas toujours re- 
cevoir, des vases. Ce sont les dernier cette annee j'espere ; 
allons done ! pourquoi me plaindre ? si je deviens jamais trop 
agee pour enseigner, je pourrai avoir un magazin de Faience 
alors J'aurai assez de brimborions pour monter boutique. (She 
dresses herself for the street, and walks out, carrying the package 
in her arms. 

Scene ii. 

A bed-room in a boarding-house. M'lle alone, reading or 
studying. Enter Fanny, with a joyous expression upon her face, 
and something in her hand, which she holds behind her back. 

Fanny. Just guess what I have for you ! (She pirouettes on 
one foot, as if hardly able to contai7i herself.) 

MHle. I have never guessed something in my life. 

Fanny. I'm so glad to have the pleasure of bringing it to 
T ou, and I'll not keep you in suspense any longer. (She hands 
IVi LLE a letter.) 

M'lle. O, a letter ! (She starts up joyously, then her coun- 
tenance falls, as she examines the envelope.) But not from home 

— not from France ! 

Fanny. O, I am so sorry ! But I might have known that by 
the thick paper and that big writing. 



ATlle (her face brightening as she kisses Fanny's disconsolate 
one). Never mind you, ma chere, it will come, my letter, before 
Christmas. I am sure of it. (She breaks open the envelope, in 
an indifferent manner, and reads :) 

M'lle. O, it is from one scholar I had when first I did come 
to America, and she does send me a present ; it will be at the 
office — your Adams' Company. I am to go down for it or send 
a boy — what can it be, I would like to be told ? O ! here is a 
?. S. on the other side (reads). "Be sure and send a careful 
person — it will be easily broken." 

Fanny. I wonder what it is. /will go down for it with 
pleasure, if you will trust me, aud I will be so careful. 

M'lle (laughing heartily.) I feel sure what it will bee — to be 
so delicat — it must be either china or glass — and they never 
do send anything of that to a person who is not married, except 
— can I say it ? I do feel it must be that — except vases, Fanny, 
vases ! Just think of the atrocity, do you say ? 

Fanny (laughing). I believe you are becoming morbid on the 
subject. It might be a thousand other things besides vases — 

MHle. Yes — it mignt oe — it it was concerning any soul but 
me — but you know — I have travel, and I know the world by 
this time, and my heart tells me it is more vase (plaintively). 

Fanny. Well, do you want them, or will you leave them at 
the office for " old hoss"? 

MHle " Old hoss " And pray will you tell me what is " old 
hoss " ? 

Fanny. Well, you know there are hundreds of things sent by 
Adams' Express Company, whose owners are not to be found 
and these things cannot be delivered, and so they are kept for a 
certain length of time and then sold. The clerks call them " old 
hoss," though I don't know why. 

M^lle (laughing). That is very funny, but I cannot let my 
present so " delicat " stay long in company with the " old horses " 
— it would hurt my friend if she knew; but I hope there will be 
nothing on it to pay, for you know I must save all I can. 



Fanny {heartily.) Yes, indeed ! but I don't think there will 
be. She would snrely pay for it in advance • and I hope it is not 
vases. 

MHle. Je ne le sais que trop — I mean, I know but too well 

[Exit Fanny.] 



ACT II. 

Scene i. 
The same. M'lle aud Fanny chatting cosily, while each is 
busy with her sewing or fancy-work. 

Fanny. It really is becoming ridiculous — two pairs already, 
and Christmas nearly two weeks off. I should think they 
would try and find out what you would like to have before they 
spend their money. 

MHle. One would think so ; but I become resigned. No ! I 
will not give up so soon to the china-shop destinee. I will make 
one more effort — for the girls of Mees Tabby's school, if they 
do not take the hint, they are not girls of sense. 

(Fanny looks at her inquiringly, and with much interest.) 

MUle. You know I do need much a new umbrella; that one 
of mine is — well, so shabby as you do say here; but a new one 
is costing too much for me just now. I will take it every day to 
the school, and give them a chance to look well at it. If they 
then do give me a pair of vases instead of the nice, useful um- 
brella, which would not cost any more, then — eh bien ! I will 
yes, I must, resign myself to the china shop. 

Fanny. If somebody could only give them a hint. 

MHle. And do you not think that hint enough broad ! It 
would be in France, I know, where we do not be spending out 
money on useless toys, if at the same time we are needing 
something for every day. 

Fanny. O ! if we could only go to France together ! 



M'lle. Ma chere ! America is very nice — very nice indeed, 
if there were not so many, many vase. But we will see, we two, 
what my old umbrella will do before Christmas. I will give it 
many flourish before then — and if that do not succeed — 

Fanny. We'll go to France together, and set up a china 
shop. 

Exeunt. 

Scene ii. 

A large school-room. In the front is a class of five girls ELLEN, 
Susan, Sophy, Mary and Gertrude, waiting for their 
teacher. M'lle enters hurriedly, her umbrella in hand. The 
latter she hangs on the edge of her desk, immediately in front of 
the girls, and then proceeds with the lesson. 

M'lle. Quelle est votre lecon aujourdhier, Elene ? 

Ellen: Nons avons trois verbes de la premiere conjugaison ; 
parler, donner, et marcher. 

M'lle. Marie, veuillez me conjuguer le verbe parler, a tous 
les temps simples ? 

Mary conjugates, with one or two mistakes, which the teacher 
corrects. The lesson on this verb may be continued ad libitum 
according to the ability of the girls. 

M'lle. Maintenant, domier — conjuguez donner, et ajoutez un 
complement direct, parce que c'est un verbe transitif. 

Susan, Oui, M'lle — je donne un cadeau — tu donne un 
cadeau — il donne un cadeau — Pluriel, nous donnons un cadeau, 
vous donnez un cadeau, ils donnent un cadeau. 

M'lle. Tres bien — continuez Sophie — je don — " 

Sophy, ( in a squeaking kind of a voice). Je donnais un cadeau. 

M'lle (inter rupti?ig her) Mais il faut avoir un peu de variete 
dan vos complement — je donnais — ne pouvez, vous penser a 
autre chose qui a cadeau ? 

Sophia. Non M'lle — I can't think — je ne puis pas penser. 

M'lle. Elene — avez-vous un peu plus d'imagination ? voy- 



ons : je donnais — 

Ellen {eagerly and looking directly at the umbrella). Oui, 
M'lle ; je donnais un parapluie, tu donnais un parapluie etc. 

Aflle ( Joyously) a la bonne heure ! mais autre chose main- 
enant: Gertrude, je donnai — 

Gertrude. Je donnai un vase — 

MHle. Non, non, non — plus de vases — nous prefeVons le 
parapluie — je donnai — 

Sophy. Je donnai un parapluie, tu donnas un parapluie etc. 

MHle. Vous pouvez conjuguer la reste du verbe avec la 
meme complement, s'il vous plait, il est tres a propos. 

( The bell sounds, and the girls rise to change classes : MUle 
opening out her umbrella gives it a shake, moving it up and down 
on the handle and giving a full view of the holes with which it is 
almost filled.) 



ACT III. 

Scene r. 

A room gaudily furnished, with every appearance of wealth, but 
none of culture : a tall awkward boy oi fifteen, or thereabouts, is 
busily arrangitig a pair of majolica vases, packing them in a 
box and talking meanwhile to himself 

Benjamin. I do hope she will like them — but I am afraid 
not, for I never can do anything to please her ; but she ought 
to like these, they cost such an awful lot — but here she comes, 
and I do want to surprise her with them. 

[He hides them in a rabinet and then stands awkwardly behind 
a chair.) 

Enter M'lle. 

MUle. Bon jour, Benjamin — il fait bien froid, aujourdhier. 

Benjamin, (with an atrocious accent). Bon jour, M'lle — I 
can't say the rest if you want me to. 

AT lie (smiling), Oh ! no, I did only want to say it is very cold 
to-day. 



Benjamin [a little more at ease) Oh! I might have known that 
was it if I had only thought a minute, and I think I would, if 
you hadn't gone so much like a steam-engine — but won't you 
come to the register and get warm ? and let me take your um- 
brella — I'd like to know what anyone would want with an um- 
brella on such a day as this ? 

MHle. Oh ! they have more than one of uses [smiling as she 
hands it to him ) 

Benjamin. Yes — I believe some folks do use them to keep 
them steady when it's slippery 

MHle. Avez vous'bienprepare votre lecon ? 

Benjamin. I know that's something about lesson — but I 
thought it was too near Christmas to be pouring over books 
and besides — 

MHle. Ehbien! 

Benjamin. Mother and I have both come to the conclusion I 
had better learn American before I attempt French. 

MHle. Comment ? vous n'etes pas un sauvage ? 

Benjamin. Oh ! talk American, won't you — there's no use in 
my trying to learn such gibberish. 

MHle [laughing). I see it is not of more use to speak to you 
French, you will not learn ever until you go to France — yon 
love not to study and you think there is not a use for you to 
waste your time and money this way any more. 

Benjamin. You've about hit the nail on the head this time. 
You know the quarter is up to-day — and — there's not much 
sense in commencing another, but I want you to accept a parting 
present from me, you've been so jolly kind, though I dare say 
you have scolded me sometimes, when I did not know it. 

[He gaes over to the cabinet and draws forth the package ', and 
hands it to his teacher), 

MUle Oh ! a thousand thanks: [while he opens it her face is a 
mixture of curiosity and drollery, but when he produces the vases, 
she limits her remarks to a language which he caiinot understand). 

M'He. Mille remercements mon garcon — ce n'est que la 
troisieme paire que j'ai recue pour Noel; il aurait mieux valu, 
m'acheter un parapluie mais enfin, c'est amiable tout le meme ; 
a cheval donne, on ne regarde pas a la bride. 

Exeunt. 



Scene ii. 

M'LLE and Fanny, sewing and chatting. 

AT' lie. I cannot think to-morrow is Christmas — it is so soon, 
this year. 

Fanny. Oh ! it always seems that way : at least, it does to 
me. I never get half of my presents finished in time : but you 
have not told me what the girls of Miss Tabby's school gave you, 
though I knew it was not an umbrella, un parapluie as you call 
it. (She glances over at the old umbrella, which occupies a prom- 
inent place in the room.) 

MUle. Oh! ma chere enfant — I took for those girls all the 
minutes — they did give me nothing yesterday — they will bring 
it — their committer, they call themselves, I believe — but my 
heart says it will be no umbrella for me — no ! vases are in the 
air, I think — it will be vases, I fear me, but we will see. 

(A knock at the door. Enter Ellen, Sophy, Susan, Mary and 
GERTRUDE, bearing amo?ig them a heavy package. M'lle casts a 
half despairing, half triumphant glance at FANNY and says in a 
low tone : " Pas" de parapluie — " 

Ellen. Nous sommes venues — oh! Please, I can't say it in 
French, and I have forgotten all that pretty speech. 

M y lle. Ca ne me fait rien ma chere ; je suis bien de vous voir : 
veiullez vous asseoir. 

Sophy. Oh ! please, won't you talk English to us just this 
once ? it isn't in school, you know, and I think you talk it so 
pretty. 

MUle. I would wish it were — what do you say correct, more 
than pretty : well, yes, I will be kind for once : we will speak 
English, now, but just this one time. 

Sophy (aside to Gertrude) "one time : " don't that sound cute ? 

(Mary nudges Ellen and looks significantly at the mysterious 
package). 

Ellen. Oh! Then I may tell you in English — but — but I 
studied it in French, and can't remember it any other way — 



nous sommes venue — we have come (whispers to herself ) to 
give you our present of Christmas — but (here she speaks quickly, 
and not as if reciting a lesson), but they couldn't all come, because 
we knew there wouldn't be 100m for all of us — but they all 
helped to pay for it, and we are the committee : ( looking very 
important). 

MUle Oh! you are the committer — what a sweet kind 
committee you are — and am I to look at the present now, or 
wait to-morrow ? 

Elleu. Whichever you choose — but I think it is nicer not to 
know what you are going to get until the very day — so I would 
not open it until to-morrow, if you can wait that long ; and you 
can tell us on the day school commences again, whether you like 
it then. 

MVle, (aside, " Then ! " ) Very well, my dear, and now you 
must take, each of you, some piece of the cake Miss Fanny was 
so kind to make for me — and I thank you all for the kind 
thought of me, to bring me around this heavy present. (She 
passes around a plate of cake, and the girls eat.) 

Ellen. We must go, now, M'lle, and we all wish you a merry 
Christmas and a happy New Year. 

Exeunt Ellen, Mary, Sophy, Gertrude and Susan. 

ftPlle, {opening the package). What have I tell you, Fanny, 
my dear? (holding up a vase) pas de parapluie pour moi et rien 
de sens non plus — toujours des vases, des vases! (displays a 
pair of hanasome vases) oh! those dear children, they are so 
sweet, and I do love them — more may-bee, than I would love if 
they had more what you call common sense — but I think it not 
very common in America. 

Fanny, Please don't say that, though it is no wonder you 
think so — but shall I bring you the rest of your vases? 

frPlle. If you will be so kind, and I will commence already 
my new vocation. (She arranges the vases, six in all, in a circle 
oft the floor, and seating herself in the ceiiter, raises her old um- 
brella). Now we are all ready for our china shop. 
(Curtain Falls.) 



AMERICA'S BIRTHDAY PARTY. 

A CENTENNIAL OPERETTA. 
By Geo. B. Bartlett. 



America, blue waist trimmed with gilt paper stars, skirt made 
of flags; a pointed crown of blue paper with golden star. She 
stands upon a table draped with flags, and leans with her left 
hand upon a tall staff surmounted by a liberty-cap. The other 
characters stand i?t a semi-circle around her. Each advances 
to the centre as she speaks or sings, and kneels before America 
and presents her gift, then retires to her place. America ac- 
knowledges each present, which she places on a small table at 
her side. 

Industry, long brown robe. Gift, horn of plenty. 

Agriculture, long green robe. Gift, sheaf of wheat. 

Electricity, long red robe. Gift, coil of wire. 

SCIENCE, long black robe. Gift, a map. 

Wealth, long yellow robe. Gift, casket of jewels. 

Literature, dark blue robe. Gift, roll of?nanuscript. 

Commerce, light blue robe, trimmed with cotton wadding. Gift, 
a ship. 

Integrity, long white robe. She presents no gift. 

All join in singing, to the tune of^Auld Lang Syne," this open- 
ing- chorus : 



A hundred years have swiftly rolled in endless round avvav, 
Since our beloved country first beheld the light of day ; 
And now we bring as birthday gifts our choicest treasures here, 
To celebrate the glorious Fourth, and this Centennial year. 

America. 

Beloved ones ! with joy I see your smiling faces here, 

And listen to your full report of each progressive year. 

Stand forth and tell what each has done, my children strong and 

true, — 
Industry ! as your time is short, suppose we hear from you. 

Industry. 

Where the primeval forest stood, a thousand cities rise ; 
Ten thousand churches upward point in warning to the skies ; 
Millions of looms are weaving fast, with tireless, rapid hands ; 
Railroads now bind the continent with solid iron bands. 

Agriculture. 

I've made the howling wilderness to blossom as the rose ; 
Where once the sand blew hot and fierce, the wheat now freely 

grows ; 
And cattle, from the western plains, go forth in herds, to feed 
The hungry poor in distant lands, wherever there is need. 

Electricity. 

I've placed a girdle round the world, and underneath the deep ; 
Without regard to time or space, from pole to pole I leap ; 
The darkest places of the world now shine with flashing light, 
And, more than all of this, in truth, I've learned to read and 
write. 

Science. 

All things on earth and in the air I measure, small and great ; 
The orbits of the starry hosts with ease I calculate ; 
I heal the sick, and teach the wise, and banish every pain ; 
And things that seemed a useless waste I bring to use again. 



Wealth. 

From California's golden shore to realms of crystal ice, 

The nations multiply their gains by taking my advice ; 

Your bonds are known in every land, and treasured near and 

far, 
And by the next Centennial year your bills may be at par. 

Literature. 

New books are published every day, some worthy of the name ; 
Our authors now in foreign lands are slowly getting fame ; 
Our magazines are wide awake, the children's joy and pride ; 
Our schools the best the sun can see in all his journey wide. 

Commerce. 

Our flag now floats in every breeze, our prows all waves divide ; 
Our goods are sent to every land, and scattered far and wide ; 
We gather gems from Afric's shores, where golden torrents roll, 
And oil from where the freezing waves defend the northern 
pole. 

America. 

I hear with joy your welcome words of faithful duty done, 
But in your noble company I see a silent one. 
Approach, my dearest, purest child, and fearlessly proclaim 
The progress made by honest truth, the best-enduring fame. 

Integrity. 

Alas! I sadly must confess my labors are in vain, — 
For public men too often fall before the greed of gain ; 
The thirst for fame has been too much for many a noble soul, 
And self, of many a patriot heart, has gained the full control. 

America. 

With sorrow and distress I hear this story, sad, but true, — 
But next Centennial year shall be a brighter one for you ; 



The faithless ones shall bow in dust before your warning voice, 
And our next set of public men shall make your heart rejoice. 

All kneel before America and sing the closing choncs. 

We hail the age of truth and right, when patriots shall be 
Like those of old, from selfish aims and low ambitions free ; 
And truth and progress onward go, forever hand in hand, 
And our beloved country make the greatest, purest land. 

Note. These verses can be spoken, if preferred, singing only the opening 
and closing chorus. 



TELL-TALE. 

\ CHARADE IN THREE SCENES. 
By G. B. Bartlett. 



SCENE I. 
Tell. (A Historical Burlesque.) 
A small boy sits upon a sofa, covered with a red shawl to repre- 
sent a throne ; on his head he wears a gilt paper crown, and 
holds a dust-brush in his right hand as a sceptre. Six guards 
surrotmd the throne, each holding some domestic weapon, such 
as broom, shovel or tongs, and all have shawls draped over their 
left shoulders. 
Gessler. Bring forth the prisoner ! 

The guards go out and bring in a very small boy, dressed like the 
others, with his ha?zds tied tightly behind his back, 
Gessler. Your name ? 
Tell. Tell. 

Gessler. I told you to tell. 
Tell. I told you it is Tell. 
Gessler. Are you ready for your sentence ? 
Tell. Yes ; if it is a short one. 
Gessler. Bring forth his son. 

Two other guards go out for a very large boy, who sits down 07t 
the sofa by the side of Gessler. 
Gessler. Son, rise J 

The boy gets up and stands with folded hands. 



Gessler. Having long desired to see your wondrous skill in 
drawing the long bow, I will grant you life and liberty if you 
will shoot an apple from his head. I have chosen a little one as 
his head is small, so you can choose your mark ! 

The guards place a large cabbage on the soil's head, and lead him 
to the end of the room. Tell is unbound, a bow is put into his 
hands, and a single arrow, which he breaks, and calls for more. 
He selects one, and conceals a second in his vest pocket. After 
putting on a pair of spectacles he shoots ; the boy shakes his 
head and the cabbage falls. 

Tell embraces his son ; the arrow falls from his pocket. 
Gessler. Archest of archers ! why was this concealed ? 
Tell. To slay you, tyrant, had I slain my boy ! 

T'ELL fires at Gessler, and escapes, pursued by all. 

SCENE II. 

Tale. (A Historical Legend.) 
A party of children enter and arrange themselves around an 
arm-chair in a graceful group. A little Girl says : " Now I 
will go and beg grandpa to tell you a story." She then goes out 
and soon returns, leading an old man, whom she places tenderly 
in the chair. She then says : "Now, grandpa, we are all ready ; " 
and the old man begins, slowly at first, but gradually warming 
up with his subject, as follows : 

" My dear little ones ! I will tell you a true incident of the 
first battle of the war which made us free and independent, in 
the very words in which I have so often heard it from the lips 
of my dear mother. In the year 1770 two brothers carried on a 
small farm in the north part of the town of Concord. They 
were of nearly the same age, and grew up in the most perfect 
harmony until the elder was twenty-two years of age and his 
brother two years younger, when the quiet of their simple lives 
was disturbed by the arrival of a family from Boston, who pur- 
chased a large farm bordering on the river meadows. One of 
the members of the household was a beautiful maiden of eight- 
een, who had been educated in England, where she had acquired 
a taste for coquetry, and a desire for the admiration of all who 
came across her path. The honest farmer boys, beholding for 



the first time so much loveliness, were completely fascinated, 
and they little thought the object of their affections was capable 
of treating both alike with the marks of her preference. One 
summer evening the elder brother determined to offer his heart 
and hand to the fair lady, and was hastening to meet her by ap- 
pointment at a secluded spot by the river-bank. Hearing voices 
he crept up slowly through the thicket of grape-vines, and taking 
off his hat gazed earnestly through the thick branches. What 
was his surprise to see his brother in the most earnest conversa- 
tion with his beloved, who seemed listening with delight to his 
impassioned language. Filled with rage and despair he hurried 
away, seeking only to tear himself from the presence of his 
love, and the sight of his brother's happiness. The next morn- 
ing found him at Boston, where he enlisted in the regiment which 
was on the point of returning home to England. His hat hav- 
ing been found on the river-bank, he was long mourned as dead 
by his brother, who finally married the young lady. On the 
morning of the 19th of April, 1775, the younger brother left his 
young wife, and assembled with the minute men, of which com- 
pany he was a member. At nine o'clock he was stationed on 
Buttrick's Hill, and marched boldly to the defence of the Old 
North Bridge, where Capt. Davis, the first martyr, fell. Mad- 
dened by the sight, the brave farmers pursued the retreating 
soldiers down the Lexington road, firing from behind walls and 
trees, in the style which they had learned in the old Indian wars. 
Foremost among the patriot band was our hero, whose trusty 
rifle seldom missed its aim. After five miles of this exciting war- 
fare he came around a house just in time to see a British soldier 
approaching. Lifting his gun he remarked : " You are a dead 
man ! " " So are you ! " replied the Briton, and both fired at 
the same instant, and fell, mortally wounded. The British sol- 
dier drew himself near an old well which was between them, and 
both approached to slake their dying thirst. What was their 
horror at recognizing each other when it was too late ! The 
two brothers embraced, but, alas ! it was the embrace of death. 
The next day they were buried in the same grave, to which they 
were followed by the heart-broken wife. 

The children seem much interested i7i the story ', and follow the 
old 771cm, who is led out by the little girl. 



SCENE III. 
Tell-Tale ; or, the Old-Fashioned Quilting-Party. 
Six or eight girls in old-fashioned caps, kerchiefs, high combs and 
old dresses, with white aprons, sit around a bed-quilt rolled 
over two poles, and supported on chairs. 

Miss Smith. I tell you, ladies, Mrs. Johnson ought to be turned 
out of the society, for they say she steals everything she can, and 
rejoices in it, too ! 

Mrs. Lewis. Now, Miss Smith, I think you ought to be care- 
ful how you tell such stories about her. I am sure she appears 
very well, always. Perhaps you have been misinformed, or ex- 
aggerate a little without intention. 

Miss Smith. Exaggerate ! how you talk ! I shouldn't wonder 
if you thought I was deaf ! Miss Brown told me all about it, 
her own self. 

Miss Brown. Now, Miss Smith, you know I did not say all 
that ! I said I heard Miss Jones say that she did not think it 
wrong to steal, if you wanted to. 

Miss Jones. You ought to be ashamed, Miss Brown ! I only 
said she must be watched, for I feared her principles were weak 
on the side of accumulation, for she did not disapprove of it by 
any means, as Miss Smart says. 

Miss Smart. I never did ! I only said Miss Prim said she 
knew Mrs. Johnson loved to take what did not belong to her. 

Miss Prim. Now, ladies, all I ever said was that Miss 
Chief said she heard her say so herself. 

Miss Chief. Ladies, in order to see how a story would grow, 
I did say that I heard Mrs. Johnson say, over and over again, 
that she loved to " steal," which is quite true ; for I heard her 
practicing a hymn, and she kept singing, " I love to steal ! I love 
to steal !" more than a dozen times before she was satisfied to 
finish the line : " I love to steal awhile away." 

Mrs, Lewis. Now, ladies, you can see how a very great mat- 
ter will come from very small beginnings, and let us all beware 
how we spread any story without being careful to ascertain 
whether it has any foundation in fact. But tea is ready, so let us 
all go out to use our mouths to a better purpose. 

[Curtain falls, 



BUOYANT. 

A DICKENS CHARADE IN THREE SCENES. 
By Mrs. Lucia Chase Bell. 



SCENE I. 

Boy {from Nicholas Nickleby). 

Mr. Nickleby, a grim lazvyer, dressed in black. 

Mr. Squeers, rather a portly man, with trowsers too short for 
him, a?td a rusty coat ; ivears a huge goggle over one eye to give 
him a one-eyed appearance. 

Wackford, his little son, well stuffed out with wadding 
a7id pillows, to make him look fat. Short trowsers and round- 
about. 

Mr. Nickleby is in his office at desk. Enter Mr. Squeers. 

Mr. N. {looking up startled). Why, this is a surprise ! I 
should know your face, Mr. Squeers. 

Mr. Squeers. Ah ! And you'd have known it better, sir, if it 
hadn't been for all that I've been a-going through. {Speaking to 
Nickleby's servant outside). Just lift that little boy off the tall 
stool in the back office, will you ? O ! he's lifted himself off. 
{Enter Wackford.) My son sir, little Wackford. What do 
you think of him for a specimen of the Dotheboy's Hall feeding ? 
Ain't he fit to bust out of his clothes, and start the seams, and 
make the very buttons fly off with his fatness ? ( Turning the 
boy round, patting him, shoiving him off as he speaks). Here's 
firmness ! Here's solidness ! W T hy, you can hardly get up 



enough of him anywheres to pinch between your thumb and 
finger. {Pinches Wackford, who screams and rubs the place.) 
Well, you see I had him there, but we breakfasted early, and he 
hasn't had his lunch yet. Why, you couldn't shut a bit of him 
in the door when he's had his dinner. (Wackford cries and 
whines about Jhe pinch.) Look at those tears, sir ! There's oili- 
ness ! 

Mr. N. Are you stopping at your old quarters ? 

Squeers. Yes, we're at the Saracen. And as it don't want very 
long till the end of the year we shall continney to stop there till 
I've collected some money and some new boys for the institution. 
I've brought little Wackford up on purpose to show to parents 
and guardians. I shall put him in the advertisement this time. 
Look at that boy, himself a pupil ! He's a miracle of high feed- 
ing, that boy is ! ( Curtain.) 

SCENE II. 
Aunt (from David Copperfield). 

Miss Betsey Trotwood, David Copperf eld's aunt. Tall 
girl with gardejiing gloves on, a big pocket in her apron, a hand- 
kerchief tied over her cap, and a large kjiife in her haiid. 

David Copperfield, a small boy, very dirty and ragged. 

Mr. Dick, a small man, with an inky manuscript in his 
hand, and a pe?i behind his ear. 

Enter David Copperfield, looking wistfully up at Miss Trot- 
wood's house. 

David. If I only dared to go in ! 

Enter Miss Trotwood. 



Go away ! (shakiug her knife at him.) Go along ! Go awav ! 
No boys here ! (Stoops to dig in flower-bed with her knife.) 

David (going up and touching her arm). If you please, 
ma'am — 

Miss T. (turning sharply). Eh ? 

David. If you please, aunt, I am your nephew. 

Miss T. (sitting flat on the ground). O Lord ! 

David. I am your nephew, David Copperfield of Blunder- 
stone. I have been treated very badly since my mamma died, 
and have run away to you, as you are my aunt. I have suffered 
everything on my journey. 

Miss T. Mercy on us ! mercy on us ! mercy on us ! (calling to 
servant within.) Janet! Tell Mr. Dick I wish to speak to him. 

Enter Mr. Dick, laughing, a?id winking at David. 

Miss T. Mr. Dick, don't be a fool. Nobody can be wiser 
than you when you try. You have heard me mention David 
Copperfield. Don't pretend you haven't. 

Mr. D. David Copperfield? David Copperfield. O yes, to 
be sure. David, certainly. 

Miss T. Well, this is his son. And he's done a pretty piece 
of business. He's run away from home and come to me, because 
I am his aunt, The question I put to you is, what shall I do 
with him ? 

Mr. D. (eyeing David and scratching his head). Do with 
him? 

Miss T. Yes, come, I want your advice. 

Mr. D. (brightening). Do with him ? Why, if I was you, 
being his aunt, I should wash him. (Curiam.) 

SCENE III. 
Buoyant (pantomime and tableaicx from Our Mutual Friend) 

Jenny Wren, the doll's dressmaker, a little girl with very 
long, golden hair, asleep in her chair, with thimble on, and lap 



full of ribbon-y scraps. Her crutch leans against the chair. On 
a table beside her a tallow candle burns low, and dolls and 
scraps are scattered about. Her drunken father lies asleep on 
the floor, with an old hat, partly crushed, under his head for a 
piflow. The stage is darkened for a moment. Then music be- 
hind the scenes softly plays, and the stage gradually grows light. 
Six little girls enter from the left, simultaneously with six from 
the right. They are dressed in short white dresses of light 
material, with spangled slippers, and carry garlands of flowers 
over their arms and in their hands. They advance till the two 
" rows of bright children " meet, keeping step lightly and buoy- 
antly to the music, and form a circle around Jenny Wren. 
Music plays faster, and the children dance around her, in the 
simple, well-known figure of the may-pole dance in Fanchon the 
Cricket ; only, instead of weaving ribbons they wave their gar 
lands. After dancing around Jenny Wren twice, one springs 
buoyantly to the back of her chair, and drops wreath upon her 
head, while another kneels at her feet, filling her lap. t Then all 
suddenly stop, forming tableau, upon which red light should be 
thrown. 



DOTAGE. 

A DICKENS CHARADE IN THREE SCENES. 

By Fannie M. Johnson. 

— — — 

Scene I. — Dot. 
[From Cricket on the Hearth.~\ 

John Peeryb ingle, a tall carrier, slow in motion and speech, 
dressed in long waterproof coat and tall boots. 

Dot Peeryb INGLE, a little, plump, lively woman, neat dress 
large apro?i with bib, morning cap, with little jaunty bows, on her 
head. 

Deaf Stranger, white wig, traveler 7 s dress, carries a large 
ear-trumpet and a camp-chair. 

TlLLY Slowboy, very slow and awkward, dress made of sev- 
eral odd garments, out-grown jacket gaping hi the back. 

DOT and her husband sitting at supper. TlLLY Slowboy awk- 
wardly tending the baby, which may be made of a small pillow 
dressed in a long gown, with a ruffled cap on the head. Carrier's 
parcels, bags and boxes strewn around the room. Dot pouring 
the tea, and John taking great mouthfuls ofbreaa and butter* 



Dot. So these are all the parcels, are they, John ? 

John. That's all, Dot. Why — no — I — " faying down 
his knife and fork) I declare ! I clean forgot the old gentleman ! 

Dot. The old gentleman ? 

John. In the cart, Dot. He was asleep among the straw the 
last time I saw him. (Rising.) Hallo ! Yahip there ! Rouse 
up ! That's my hearty ! 

John hurries to the door with a candle in his hand, and re- 
turns escorting the deaf old gentleman. The STRANGER bows to 
Dot, and, opening the camp-chair, seats himself upon it, and 
pulling a newspaper out of his pocket begins to read. 

John. There ! that's the way I found him, Dot, sitting by the 
roadside, upright as a mile-stone, and almost as deaf. 

Dot. Sitting in the open air, John ? 

John. In the open air, just at dusk. " Carriage paid," he 
said, and gave me eighteen pence. Then he got in. And there 
he is ! 

Stranger {looking up frotn his paper). If you please, I was to 
be left till called for. Don't mind me. (Resumes his reading, 
but presently looks up again, and looks from DOT to JOHN.) Your 
daughter, my good friend ? 

John (very loudly). Wife ! 

Stranger (putting trumpet to his ear). Niece I 

John (roars). WIFE! 

Stranger. Ah! Indeed! Surely! Very young ! 

STRANGER reads a few moments very intently, and then lotks 
¥ up from his paper at the baby. 



Stranger. Baby yours ? (John nods.) Ah ! also very 
young. 

Dot (striking in, shouts in stranger's ear). Two months and 
three da-a-ys ! Vaccinated just six weeks ago-o ! Took very 



fine-ly ! Considered by the doctors a very remarkable child \ 
Equal to the general run of children at five months o-old ! May 
seem impossible to you, but feels his legs already. 

Dot, out of 'breath, seizes the baby, ana .dandles it up and down 
before the stranger's face, while Tilly Slowboy dances awk- 
wardly about Vie baby, crying, Ketch-er ! ketch-er ! 

Curtain falls. 



SCENE II. — Age. 

[From Davia Copperfteld\ 

Dora, reclining on a sofa, dressea in white w rapper % with her 
hair unbound, and floating over the pillow ; holds a small dog 
in her arms. 

Betsey Trotwood, prim dress, cap and spectacles, sits in a 
chair, knitting. 

Dora. When I can run around, aunt, I shall make Jip race. 
He is getting quite slow and lazy. 

Betsey. I suspect, my dear, that he has a worse disorder than 
that. Age, Dora. 

Dora. Do you think he is old ? O, how strange it seems 
that Jip should be old ! 

Betsey. It's a complaint we are all liable to, little one, as we 
get on in life I don't feel more free from it than I used to be, 
I assure you. • 

Dora. But Jip ! even little Jip ! O, poor fellow ! 

Betsey. I dare say he'll last a long time yet, Blossom. He 
must have apiece of flannel in his house this winter, and I 



shouldn't wonder if he came out quite fresh again with the 
flowers in the spring. Bless the little dog ! if he had as many 
livesas a cat, and was on the point of losing them all, he'd bark 
at me with his last breath, I believe. 

Dora {caressing Jip). Even little Jip ! O, poor fellow ! 

Betsey. His lungs are good enough, and his dislikes are not 
at all feeble. He has a good many years before him, no doubt. 
But if you want a dog to race with, little Blossom, he has lived 
too well for that, and I'll give you one. 

Dora. Thank you, aunt, but don't, please. 

Betsey. No? I 

Dora. I couldn't have any other dog but Jip. It would be 
so unkind to Jip. Besides, I couldn't be such friends with any 
other dog but Jip ; because he wouldn't have known me before 
I was married, and wouldn't have barked at Doady when he first 
came to our house. I couldn't care for any other dog but Jip, I 
am afraid, aunt. 

Betsey. To be sure, Dora. You are right. 

Dora. You are not offended, are you ? 

Betsey {patting Dora's cheek). Why, what a sensitive pet it 
is ! To think that I could be offended ! 

Dora. No, no, I didn't really think so ; but I am a little tired, 
and it made me silly for a moment to talk about Jip. He has 
known me in all that has happened to me, haven't you, Jip ? 
And I couldn't bear to slight him because he was a little altered, 
— could I, Jip ? You are not so old, Jip, that you'll leave your 
mistress yet. We may keep one another company a little 
longer. 

Curtain falls. 



SCENE III. — Dotage. 

[From Bleak Housed 

Grandfather Smallweed, dressed in rusty, old-fashioned 
clothes^ wig or skull-cap. 

Grandmother Smallweed, old-fasliioned gown, long apron, 
white cap, with great ruffled border. 

Judy Smallweed, dress very scant and skimped, no orna- 
ments, hair twisted back in a hard knot, and fastened with an 
immense horn co7iib. 

Bartholomew Smallweed, a small man, long coat and tall 
hat ; carries cane. 

CHAHLEY, the chore girl, plain dress, rough apron, great bonnet 
on head, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing-brush in her hand. 

Grandfather and Grandmother Smallweed seated in arm- 
ehairs on each side of the fire-place. Under Grandfather 
SMALLWEED's chair a box of money. Beside him a spare 
cushion to throw at Grandmother Smallweed's head when 
she makes any allusion to money, Judy Smallweed is setting 
the table > with a great clatter. She sets a sheet-iron tea-tray on 
the table, and arranges cups and saucers ; spreads bread and 
butter, and cuts it in small slices. 

Grandfather S. Where is that girl ? 

Judy. Charley, do you mean ? 

Grandfather S. (very loud). Hey? 

Judy. Charley, do you mean ? 

Grandmother S. (chuckling and speaking in a piping sing-song 
voice). Over the water, Charley over the water, over the water 
to Charley, over the water to Charley. 

Grandfather S, (looks threateningly at the old lady, lifts the 
cushion, but does not throw it, and lays it down again). Ha ! if 
that's her name. She eats a deal. It would be better to allow 
her for her keep. 



Judy. No. 

Grandfather S. No I Why not ? 

Judy. She'd want sixpence a day, and we can do it for less. 

Grandfather S. Sure ? 

Jidy [nodding her head emphatically). Yes. (Raising her 
voice.) You Charley, where are yon ? (Charley appears in tht 
doorway and curtesies!) What work are you doing now ? 

Charley. I'm a-cleaning the up-stairs back room, miss. 

Judy. Mind you do it thoroughly, and don't loiter. Shirking 
won't do for me. Go along (stamping on the floor). You girls 
are more trouble than you're worth ! 

(Charley goes out, and Bartholomew comes in.) 

Grandfather S. Aye, aye, Bart ! Here you are, hey ? 

Bart. Here I am ! (Seats himself astride a chair.) 

Grandfather S. Been along with your friend again, Bart ? 
(Bart nods.) Dining at his expense, Bart ? (Bart nods a$ain.) 
That's right ! Live at his expense as much as you can, and 
take warning by his foolish example. That's the use of such a 
friend — the only use you can put him to. (Judy brings Grand- 
father S. his bread and butter and tea, which he takes.) Yes, 
yes, that's such advice as your father would have given you, 
Bart. You never saw your father, more's the pity. He was my 
true son. He was my true son, Bart. A good accountant, and 
died fifteen years ago. 

Grandmother S. (-bipingly). Fifteen hundred pound, fifteen 
hundred pound in a black box, fifteen hundred pound locked up, 
fifteen hundred pound put away and hid. 

Grandfather Smallweed sets aside his bread and butter, 
seizes the cushion and throws it at her head, and sinks back 
overpowered. JUDY hauls him up, and shakes him into shape, 
punching him like a great bolster. The old lady is rescued from 
falling over the side of her chair, with her cap tumbled over 
one eye. Judy plants her firmly in the chair, and steps back 
without straightening her cap. 

Curtain falls. 



NEW COLONIAL PLAYS. 



THE 

Girls of Seventeen Seventy-Six 

<A Colonial ^Drama in Three cAds. 

FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY. 

By DORA ADELE SHOEMAKER, 

AUTHOR OF "A FIGHTING CHANCE," ETC. 

Fourteen female characters, and supernumeraries. Scenes, two interiors 
and two exteriors ; costumes, those of the Colonial period. A strong and stir- 
ring play, touching lightly and adroitly upon certain minor historical points in 
the structure of its plot, but relying mainly upon purely imaginary but wholly 
characteristic and convincing incidents of love and minor politics for the in- 
terest of its story. Barbara's pretty love episode is ingeniously woven into the 
familiar fabric of the Revolution with admirable dramatic results. Brightly 
and cleverly written, full of convincing historical color, and appealing strongly 
and adroitly to the spirit of patriotism, it is strongly recommended to Colonial 
Societies and other interested bodies as first-class material. Plays a full evening. 

PRICE 25 CENTS. 

CHARACTERS. 

Madam Evelyn Mayfields . Wife of Colonel May fields of ye British Army 

Helen ) Her Daughters 

Amanda ) * 

Barbara Steele " Bitter Sweet" her Niece 

Dolly Darrah The Friend of Barbara 

" Grandmere " Mayfields The mother of Colonel Mayfields 

Honora Drake A staunch Loyalist 

Anne Van Dresser The friend of Amanda 

Jacqueline Marie Valcartier, A French-Canadian girl of fallen 

fortune Grandmere' s attendant 

Betsey Ross. 
Troubles \ 

£hloe [ Slaves 

Minerva, f 

Dassy J 

Guests for the Sewing-Bee in Act I, and for the Ball in Act 111. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I.— Philadelphia. In the garden at Madam Mayfields. Afternoon late 
in the month of May. 

Act II.— Scene I. At the old cabin. Sunset time. July Fourth. 

Scene II. The home of Betsey Ross. A morning of early A utumn. 
Act III.— Trenton. The hall of the ballroom. Christmas night. 



Soldiers Brave and Maidens Fair 

cA Colonial Comedy in Two cAds. 
By T, H, DA VIES. 

Six male, two female characters, and soldiers. Scene, an easy interior ; cos- 
tumes of the period. A clever and entertaining little piece depicting a stir- 
ring incident of the Revolution that might easily have happened even if, as is 
probably the case, it never did, history being notoriously undramatic. Very 
bright and perfectly actable. All the parts good and some of exceptional 
opportunity. Plays only an hour and a half or so, and so is well adapted to 
form part of a longer program. Strongly patriotic. 

PRICE 15 CENTS- 



NEW ENTERTAINMENTS. 



A Modern Sewing Society. 

An Entertainment in One Scene* 

FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY. 

By O- W. GLEASON, 

AUTHOR OF " THE CREOLE BELLES," " TROUBLE IN SANTA CLAUS LAND," ETC. 

Fourteen female characters. Costumes modern; no scenery required. May 
be easily presented on a bare platform. Plays forty-five minutes. A humorous 
but good-natured picture of this much-abused institution, briskly and viva- 
ciously written and full of "points." Its characters, as appears from the 
following cast, offer a wide variety of opportunity for humorous character- 
ization and for local hits and satire of local characters and institutions. 

PRICE J5 CENTS. 



CHARACTERS: 



Mrs. President, aged 40, dignified. 

Mrs. Know all, aged 45, excitable. 

Mrs. Wise, aged 35, calm. 

Mrs. Short, aged 40, pert. 

Mrs. Green, aged 50, countrified. 

Mrs. Brown, aged 50, very deaf. 

Mrs. Jones, aged 30, stylish. 



Mrs. Gossip, aged 45, talkative. 
Mrs. Truthful, aged 40, honest. 
Miss Chatter, aged 25, up-to-date. 
Miss Flutter, aged 25, mischievous. 
Miss Simple, aged 35, plain. 
Miss Pert, aged 35, disagreeable. 
Miss Small, aged 22, very pretty . 



THE BACHELOR'S REVERIE. 

cAn Entertainment in One Scene* 
By GRACE B. FAXON, 

AUTHOR OF "MAIDS AND MATRONS," ETC. 

One male, nine female characters and a lady or gentleman to read the verses 
that accompany the tableaux. The text calls for a simple interior scene, but 
this is not indispensable, the apparatus for showing the tableaux alone being 
essential. A very pretty and elastic entertainment, lasting from twelve 
minutes to half an hour, according to the number of pictures shown, the num- 
ber of encores and incidental features, and the employment or non-employment 
of musical accessories. This popular entertainment is here offered in print 
for the first time. It depicts a lonely bachelor in the act of -dreaming of the 
joys of matrimony, All the popular — and some unpopular types of girlhood 
appear to him in a vision and from these he finally makes his choice, only to 
be thrown down. Very highly recommended. 

PRICE 25 CENTS. 



CHARACTERS 



The Bachelor. 

The Country Girl. 

The Golf Girl. 

The Coquette. 

The Belle of the Ball. 



The Nun. 

The Hunting Girl. 
The College Girl. 
The Military Girl. 
The Widow. 



A Lady or Gentleman to Serve as Reader 



RECENT NOVELTIES. 



The Scroggins Divorce Case 

<A SMock Trial in One <Ad. 

By O. E. YOUNG, \ 

AUTHOR OF " THE STRIPED SWEATER," " POPPING BY PROXY," " INTERVIEW- 
ING A GRANGER," " THE REAL THING," ETC. 

Seven male, five female characters, and supers for Jury. Scenery unim- 
portant ; may be given on a platform. Costumes, modern and eccentric. Plays 
one hour. A spirited and amusing trial for divorce, introducing a great variety 
of humorous rustic characters, and provided with a dramatic " snapper " bring- 
ing the entertainment to a very satisfactory conclusion. As usual in such en- 
tertainments, there is a chance for local hits and points in speech of counsel, 
etc., and the selection of the Jury may be worked up or not, as preferred ; but 
the demand now tends toward a complete entertainment rather than toward a 
skeleton piece to be amplified with local matters, and such is here provided. 

PRICE ...... 25 CENTS. 



CHARACTERS: 

Judge Pompous, of the Superior Court, mindful of the dignity of the law. 

Resolute Scroggins. plaintiff in a divorce case/ 

'Squire Quirk, Mrs. Scroggins'' counsel, always ready to object. 

Eliphalet Scroggins, the defendant, and Mrs. Scroggins' husband. 

Pray Wek;ht. a pretended minister, better known as M Slick Jim." 

Sam Simple, a half-witted farm hand. 

Polly Pry, Mrs. Scroggins* mother, and very deaf. 

Melinda Meddle, an old maid, but still waiting\ 

Sally Scroggins, Mr. Scroggins' sister. 

Martha Snapper, a colored scrub-woman. 

Algernon Styles (Dick Kerne), a detective disguised as a dude boarder. 

Christopher Quiz, foreman of the jury. 

Also Supers to fill out the jury. 



SUNSET. 

A Comedy in One Ad. 
By JEROME K. JEROME. 

Three male, three female characters. Costumes, modern ; scene, a single 
pretty interior. An admirable bit of pathos, dramatically conceived, and 
written with great truth and vigor. The story relates a most moving piece of 
self-sacrifice, full of sympathy and interest, so strong in its hold upon an 
audience that the task of the actors is half done. This advantage fits it admi- 
rably for amateurs, few of whom are superior to such a crutch. Plays fifty 
minutes. 

PRICE J5 CENTS. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



PLATFORM MONOLOGUES 

. . . AND . . . 

STAGE ENTERTAINMENTS 

" By KATE F. ELLIS. 

A collection of bright and entertaining material for readers, in the style of 
May Isabel Fiske's " Monologues " ($ 1.25) and Marjorie Cooke's " Modern Mon- 
ologues" ($1.00), supplemented by two entertainments by the same author. 
The popularity of the monologue, as a vehicle for public reading, has by no 
means been followed at an equal pace by competent material in this line, and 
we are glad to be able to offer to the clamorous demand for this sort of thing 
so competent an answer as Miss Ellis' book supplies. We can best describe it 
by the following table of 

CONTENTS. 

The Christmas Shopper For a Lady 

A Sunday Morning Interview . For a Lady 

A Trolley Ride For a Lady 

On the Servant Girl Question For a Lady 

The Husband's Holiday .. . For a Lady 

The Reading Club '. For a Lady 

The Last Breakfast at the Mountains For a Lady 

Fame or Love — Which ? For a Lady 

A Call on the Dressmaker For a Lady 

After the Church Fair For a Lady 

The Grampaphone as Heard by Uncle Jed .... For a Gentleman 

A Woman's Intuition For a Lady 

Then and Now. Introducing monologue " Tea of the Past and Teaofthe Present " 
Fit and Suitemall : Fashions. 

PRICE , 30 CENTS- 



The Automatic Serwct Girl 

A Sketch in One (Act. 

By AMELIA SANFORD, 

AUTHOR of " the advertising girls," "a corner in strait-jackets," 

ETC. 

Two male, one female characters. Scene, an easy interior ; costumes, mod- 
ern. A novel idea, full of side-splitting possibilities in the way of amplifica- 
tion, but very briefly written, playing only from fifteen to twenty minutes. A 
mechanical servant maid, incapable of insubordination or insolence, never 
wanting an afternoon out, and immune from the attentions of the police or 
other adorers, is alluring in itself, and is shown to be full of "humorous possi- 
bilities on the stage. Recommended for a short and easy entertainment. 

PRICE .•.:♦♦ J5 CENTS. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ 

022 204 645 2 



^tlltai 



$rite, 15 <£ent$ <&at\) 



Hit 



Cometh' in I ive Acts. Thirteen males, four 



female 
i a fall evening. 



Costumes, picturesque ; scenery, yb- 



Dran 



in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. Cos- 
modern ; scenery, varied. Plays a full evening. 



Play in Five Acts. Thirteen males, three females. 
Scenery varied ; costumes, Greek. Plays a lull evening. 

Tragedy in Five Acts. Thirteon males, four fe- 
males, and supernumeraries. Costumes, of the 
varied and elaborate. Plays a full evening. 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE S&S^: cESSS 

picturesqiie ; scenery varied. Plays a full evening. 

ttlfHFf I Play in Five Acts. Fifteen males, t\ro females. Seen- 

AIVIILU ,. rv elaborate; costumes of the period. Plays a tull 

evening. 

THE DIV4IQ Comedy in Five Acts. Nine males, five females. 
lllC MVAL3 Scenery varied; costumes of the period: Plajsa 
* full evening, . y, 

IE stoops to conquer \;x;%::^:z^%.ZT^ 

'ied j costumes of the period. Plays a full evening. 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, W 

three females. I Costumes, pi 
full evening. 



■ Comedy in Five 
Acts. Ten male** 
varied. Plays a 
ce by H 



Sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

Salter §. OBafeer & Company 

No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts 



